


A Wolf's Heart

by mizdiz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin has a congenital heart defect, and is awaiting an available heart for  transplant. Sirius Black is an immature twenty-something, living with a couple other immature twenty-somethings. Both are obsessed with the same obscure book, which becomes their coping mechanism for navigating their instant and torrid love affair. Life, they discover, is precarious at best, but from each other, they learn how to make it something that's worth living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for starting this, and that's basically all you need to know.

There’s a full moon tonight, and although it’s still early, it hangs low and heavy in the sky. If ever I were to be something else, Remus Lupin thinks, I would be a wolf. There’s something carnal about this moon--something about its fullness which slides beneath his skin and tugs at his bones, as though willing him to escape his weary body. Would if he could.

Right now, that weary body loiters outside a bookshop, wrapped in layers of wool clothing, hidden from the bitter chill of the December air.

A moment ago, he was walking along the side street. In another moment, he will be entering the shop. But for right now, Remus is suspended in this moment--the moment that exists between approaching and doing. His problem heart lets out a few ill-toned beats as he takes in the overwhelming sensation of the now.

Inside the shop there is a comfortable and quiet chaos. The layout of the store is haphazard at best, with mismatched loveseats and discoloured shelves.

The shop owner is a Scottish woman named Pince, who wears a severe facial expression most days, and has frazzled hair. She smiles at Remus when he enters--a gesture he tries to return, as he processes the change between being suspended, and going back to the “doing.”

“Good to see you, Remus,” says Pince, sorting a pile of books at her counter. “It’s been a while. Ms. Evans was in here a few days ago and said you were in hospital.”

“Just a little hiccup,” Remus says, gesturing awkwardly at his chest. “Only had to stay for one night.”

“Damn shame, that heart of yours,” Pince says. “Have you tried ginger root? My wife swears by ginger root tea. Cures everything from hangovers to HIV, she says.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Remus says, promptly and purposefully forgetting the suggestion. He steps away and moves between the familiar aisles of the shop, running a finger down the bindings of books he hasn’t read before, and a few that he has.

One of Remus’ biggest fears is needles, and he has the unfortunate need to be poked with them often. Whenever a nurse comes at him with something sharp, he closes his eyes, and finds himself here, wandering amongst tattered and yellowing pages of used books. Instead of the smell of hospital antiseptic, he smells the dust in the crevices, and the age in the paper. If not a wolf, Remus thinks, then perhaps, instead, a tree, so that some lumbering, bearded man may cut him down, some factory worker with calloused hands may smash him into paper, and some publishing company (independently owned, perhaps), could print stories on his skin. He thinks he would live very well as a book, provided he fell into the hands of someone who read him gently.

And so, happy to just be here, Remus strolls about the shop, occasionally stopping to pull down a particularly ragged book, to read a page or two. He’s drawn to the covers that seem well-used--it means someone loved it enough to pick it up more than once.

Remus finds himself leafing through an account of World War II, and the binding is literally falling apart at the seams. “The Nazi Death Camps,” he reads to himself. “Left most of their prisoners dead, and for those left alive, it was not an existence worth having.”

He sits the book back on its place on the shelf, and walks to the fiction section with a newfound sense of purpose. His memory has been jogged by this simple sentence, into remembering a book that no longer is in his collection at home, but should be. He heads towards the “W” section.

The latter half of the alphabet is crammed in an awkward corner in the back of the shop, where the heater doesn’t reach too well, so there’s a draft. On a quiet night like tonight, there is exactly one other person browsing here, and Remus has to try not to stare, for he is very attractive.

He is a man, but a young one, with long black hair, and a stoic disposition. He is broad in the shoulders, and stocky in his frame, which is draped in a heavy, leather jacket. He wears motorcycle boots. Remus can’t tell definitively, but he thinks he might smell like motor oil.

Remus diverts his eyes, but can’t help but to try and watch the man in his periphery as he searches the shelves for his book. The man is directly beside him, scanning the same section as he, and the air between them is full of the tension that comes when two people are trying hard not to acknowledge that they both know they’re in each other’s personal space.

Remus, though distracted, spots his book. It is directly in the middle of the middle shelf, and is not really tattered enough for Remus’ liking. This is a book that deserves folded corners, and loose covers, and pencil scratches in the margins. He vows to rectify this wrongdoing, reaching out a hand, just as the man to his side reaches out his, and the two of them make accidental contact as they both grab at the very same book.

They both drop their hands, take a step back, laughing awkwardly.

“Sorry,” Remus says.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry,” he says.

They stare hard at their own feet for a moment. They laugh again. They are uncomfortable.

“You can have the book,” Remus says quickly, even though he still wants it. His desire to get out of this situation is stronger than his desire for his book. “Truly, go ahead. I’ve, uh, I’ve already read it about a thousand times.”

The man laughs a real laugh this time, and says, “Honestly, I’ve read it before too.”

“Really?” Remus asks, looking up from his shoes, his surprise genuine. This book--this particular book--means the world to Remus; it’s a part of his soul. It is also, almost entirely, unknown. A failure. A flop. This shop wouldn’t even own a copy if it weren’t for Remus’ recommendation. No one in the world has read this book. Except Remus. And, apparently, this man.

“Yeah,” the man says, shrugging. “Hah, what are the odds we’d both be look for it at the same time, huh?”

Remus nods absently, and before he can stop himself, like some nervous tick, he finds himself saying, “‘If it happens, then it was supposed to.’” The man looks confused for a second, until realization washes over him.

“Did you just quote the book at me?”

Remus tries not to look too sheepish.“I told you I’ve read it too much.”

The man reaches over to the shelf and pulls the book down. It is called _A Life Worth Living_ , by Eugene Washburn, and it is the most tragic thing Remus has ever laid eyes on. His weak little heartstrings pull at the thought of it, in fact. Remus watches, transfixed, at the way the man holds his precious book. He has large hands. Worker’s hands, Remus can tell, by the thickness of the skin, and the blackness beneath the nails. He does not hold the book gently; he grasps it tightly along the edges. When he flips through the pages, he does so with little grace--the sound of the page turning seems to echo off the walls of their tiny corner in the latter half of the alphabet. Remus is pleased. This man will take the proper care of his book.

“I’m surprised,” the man says, still leafing through the book, not looking at Remus. “If you can quote this off the cuff, I’d expect you to already have a copy.”

“I did,” Remus assures him. “A very well-used copy, I might add, that I took with me everywhere. But I, uh, I was in hospital earlier this week, and between the commotion of moving rooms and getting settled, it got misplaced. I didn’t realize it until I was home. I went back to look for it, but they hadn’t seen it.” He scowls. “They probably trashed it, honestly.”

The man glances back at him. He has very dark eyes. “That’s a real tragedy,” he says nicely. Then he holds out the book. “I also think that you probably deserve this more than I do. I only read it once by chance at a library. I never thought to buy a copy, until today when I came here just to kill some time.”

“I don’t mind,” Remus lies, staring greedily at the book. “You can have it.”

“Come now,” says the man, grinning. “We can go back and forth about this for a million years, but eventually one of us is gonna have to end up with this damn book. Isn’t there a quote like that in here?” The man looks to the ceiling, thinking hard. “‘You can always put off the inevitable,’ or something like that?”

Remus smiles very wide. “Close,” he says. “You got the general idea, at least. ‘There is almost always something you can do to postpone the inevitable, but I suppose the real courage is being able to face that which is fated,’” he quotes. “And then, well, the quote goes on, but…” he trails off. The man, he realizes, is laughing at him.

“See what I mean?” he says kindly. “This book belongs with you.” The man holds out the book again, as though presenting some sort of precious gift. He holds the binding so tightly that his fingers are white. He loves my book, Remus thinks, and who else would ever do that? He casts a sad glance at Eugene Washburn’s first and only novel, and shakes his head.

“No, see, I already know it all, almost literally to the letter. You keep it.” The man raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth to protest, but Remus puts up a hand. “I mean it, it’s okay. Someone else has got to love that book, and that won’t happen if I keep hogging all the copies. Besides,” he adds. “I can always find another one.”

The man looks skeptical, but slowly withdraws the book, clutching it tightly in one hand, down at his side. He regards Remus with a curious expression. “My name’s Sirius,” he says finally.

“I’m Remus.” Sirius nods.

“Thank you for the book,” he says. “Now I feel like I need to give you one of my favorites to make up for it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Remus says, but Sirius waves a dismissive hand.

“Nonsense. Here, wait for two seconds, let me see if I can find something.” He leaves before Remus has a chance to even process what Sirius said, let alone protest against it. He stands stupidly in the middle of the aisle, suddenly very aware of his own body, and how awkwardly he is holding himself. He straightens his back and fiddles with his sleeves.

“I’ve got it!” He hears Sirius before he sees him, noisily trampling around the shop in a way Remus would never do. “Perfect trade,” Sirius says, once he rounds the corner a few minutes later, brandishing a book at Remus. Remus takes it and immediately lets out a snort.

“Ah yes,” he says wisely. “A true classic. _Football’s Greatest_.”

“Are you a football fan?” Sirius asks, grinning.

“Not in the slightest,” Remus says, and Sirius’ grin only gets wider.

“Perfect,” he says excitedly. “Then you don’t have any spoilers for the book.”

“Christ,” Remus says, laughing. He holds the book to his chest. “I will cherish it always, thank you.”

Sirius has changed drastically in a very short period of time. He somehow--despite his intimidating getup, and the stoicism he seemed to give off only a moment ago--exudes the exact disposition of a child in a sweetshop. It is as though, through simple introductions and book exchange, he is now perfectly comfortable in Remus’ presence. Remus isn’t shy, necessarily, not that much at least, but he is quiet, and he is introverted, and he is confused by the change in atmosphere, as though all the tension between them suddenly is melting away like ice cream in the heat.

“Listen,” Sirius says. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re up to, but I am bored as shit.” He flashes Remus the most charming smile he has ever seen in his life, and he feels like he should shield his eyes, for fear of agreeing to something through pure white-teeth-manipulation. “There’s a coffee shop two buildings down. Come keep me company for a while.”

It’s not even a question. It’s one tone away from a command. “I don’t know,” Remus says, glancing at his watch. His problem heart doesn’t like him to stay out very late, but then, there is a full moon tonight, and his bones are feeling adventurous.

“I’ll let you talk about books,” Sirius says. “You can tell me all about Eugene Washburn, and quote him all you like.”

Remus instantly enters his own sweetshop.

“You probably should have led with that,” he says.

\---

Sirius Black is an interesting person who is drawn to other interesting people, and Remus is definitely one of the most interesting people he’s met to date, and he’s only known him for about five minutes.

This boy looks ridiculous and is nearly lost in his oversized jumper. His hair is hidden beneath a beanie, say for a few wisps of brown curls that frame his face and stick out behind his ears. And he is buying the football book. He is honest-to-God dishing money out from his pocket, putting it on the counter, and buying it. This boy, with a silly hat and more wool than body, who can quote obscure novels off the top of his head, is buying a book called _Football’s Greatest_ , because Sirius suggested it. Sirius cannot, in good conscience, walk away from him without knowing more.

“You know I only gave you that as a joke, right? I didn’t expect you to actually buy it,” Sirius says as Remus accepts his receipt from the middle-aged bookstore owner who once tried to convince Sirius that all he needed for a loving and creatively stimulating relationship was some topaz and maybe some opal for good measure.

“No, no,” Remus says pedantically. “Fair’s fair in a book trade, I’m afraid. This is mine now. I am now the owner of a book called _Football’s Greatest_ , and it is entirely your fault. That is something you just have to live with.”

“In my defense, I tried to get you to take the book you actually wanted.”

“Yes, but you needed it more,” Remus says, stepping out of the door Sirius is holding open for him. Sirius leads the way to the coffee shop, which is owned by a pretty woman named Rosemerta, who makes the scones herself from scratch, and gives Sirius free refills on coffee.

“What are you drinking?” Sirius asks.

“I don’t need anything,” Remus says politely.

“Neither do I,” Sirius says. “I definitely don’t need a latte at eight in the evening, but I’m still gonna get one, because I want it. So what are you drinking?”

Sirius likes the range of emotions that go across Remus’ face. Embarrassment. Annoyance. Amusement. Acceptance.

“A hot chocolate,” he says finally. “A small one.” Sirius turns to Rosmerta.

“The usual for me, a hot chocolate for my friend,” he says, giving her a flirtatious smile. He doesn’t fancy her, but he likes her--thinks she’s nice--and he likes the way she gets flustered when she’s flattered. She turns a rosy pink across her cheekbones, and she pushes her hair back unnecessarily. Sirius likes making people feel beautiful.

“Thank you,” Remus says when he gets his drink. He doesn’t quite meet Sirius’ eye.

“If you’re worried about a stranger buying you stuff, don’t sweat it,” Sirius says, picking up on Remus’ discomfort. “I nicked a few pounds off one of my roommates, so technically he’s paying.”

“Well, that would still mean a stranger is buying me stuff,” Remus points out, but he looks a little relieved. “Though, should I be concerned that you apparently steal money from your roommates?”

“Nah, I’m sure he did something to deserve it,” Sirius says dismissively, and he heads towards a table in the back, with Remus close behind. The place is cramped, and all the tables and chairs are creaky and wobble on the uneven wooden floor. There is abstract art hung on all the walls, done by local artists who can’t get their artwork bought anywhere else. It’s very clear they’ve tried to make an ancient building look vintage and hip, but Sirius is pretty sure it’s about one tough inspection away from a fire safety violation.

“So what brings you to this part of town?” Remus asks once they’re seated. “You live around here?”

“Nah,” Sirius says, taking a sip of his coffee. “My roommate had a blind date, and he insisted I wait downtown for him to give him a ride home if things go awry.”

“Is this the roommate you stole money from?”

“No, it’s the other one. James. He’s my best mate, but Christ, he gets worked up over birds. He’s been on about fifty dates in the past month it seems like. He’s insisting he’s holding out for ‘the one’ or whatever, but I’m like, mate, you’re twenty years old, you don’t have to marry every girl you sleep with, you know?”

“I’ve a friend like that. Her name’s Lily. Real independent woman, mind you, but she gets so worried that she’ll ‘never find someone to love,’” Remus says, doing air quotes. “And, I dunno, I understand I guess, but at this time in my life I just think I have bigger concerns.”

“Nah, I agree with you. Maybe we should just get her and James together, and they can go have their torrid love affair, and we can be free from their incessant whinings.”

“Mm, don’t take this the wrong way, but if your James is anything like you, I doubt he’d be Lily’s type.”

Laughing, Sirius says, “I’m sorry, how exactly am I supposed to take that? Like me, how?”

“Oh I dunno,” Remus says, fiddling with the lid of his drink. “Loud, I guess. You’re very loud.”

“I’m loud?”

“Not--not in a ‘wow you’re so noisy,’ sort of way. More like, boisterous, and forward, and… I don’t know, just… loud. You just have a very demanding presence.”

“Demanding presence, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re very, ‘let’s skip the small talk and go right in on the personal details,’ which isn’t a bad trait, necessarily, but it’s a unique one. I don’t mind it, but, I dunno, I think Lily would.”

“Hm, well, James isn’t much like me I don’t think. I mean, in the ways it counts, I guess. Like we have the same morals, and the same sense of humor, but he’s a little more reserved. Maybe a little more mature,” Sirius adds with a small smile. “The kid can get a big head sometimes, though, but that’s really his only bad trait. He’s aces, James is.”

“So’s Lily. She’s an...uncommonly kind woman. Really supportive. I’d be lost without her, really.”

“Hah, maybe we should hook the two of them up.”

“Yeah, I don’t really make a habit of playing match-maker with strangers,” Remus says. “Though,” he adds as an afterthought. “I also don’t make a habit of going to coffee shops with strangers on a whim, so who knows what the future may hold.”

“Well we wouldn’t be strangers if we actually talked about ourselves instead of our friends,” Sirius points out. “So tell me something about yourself.”

“Something about myself? Oh, you’ve got to be more specific than that.”

“Mm, fine, but let’s get the boring stuff out of the way. I’ll go first. My name is Sirius Black, I’m twenty years old, no, I’m not at Uni, yes I have a job, what is it? glad you asked, I’m a mechanic, I live with my two best friends, James and Peter, my favorite color is that shade of pink that sometimes mixes with all the oranges in a sunset, I much prefer dogs to cats, and I, in no way, have any inkling of what I’m going to do in the future. Your turn.”

“Oh gosh, um, okay. I’m Remus Lupin, and I’m also twenty years old. Er, I’m not at Uni either, and I don’t, uh, have a job either. I’ve had some health problems lately, so I haven’t been able to work, so I’ve been living with my mum and dad, but hopefully only temporarily...what were the other questions?”

“I think you’re missing favorite color, dogs or cats, and what are you going to do in the future?”

“I like dark blue, because it reminds me of nighttime, which is my favorite time of day. Let’s see, I would probably be classified as a dog person, but I respect cats. As for the future? Fuck if I know.”

“Cheers to that, mate,” Sirius says, raising his glass. Remus, he notices, has not stopped moving since, well, since they ran into each other at the bookshop. Some part of his body is constantly in motion, be it his fingers fiddling, his legs jiggling, or his teeth chewing at his bottom lip.

“They’ve got the heat on way too high in here,” Remus remarks, pushing up his sleeves. “That’s another thing about me--I’m always cold, so if I say it’s hot, either I’m dying, or it really is too hot.”

Sirius shrugs off his own jacket and slings across the back of his chair. “Well, I don’t think you’re dying,” he says. “It is pretty warm in here. The ventilation system in this place is wonky as all Hell, so the temperature is always in flux.” He trails off, distracted by a metal bracelet that’s dangling from Remus’ wrist. “What’s that?” he asks.

“What’s what?” Remus asks, and Sirius nods to the bracelet. “Oh.” Remus furrows his brows a little, and pushes his sleeves back down in a way that seems instinctual. “It’s a, uh, medical bracelet.”

“For what?” Sirius asks tactlessly, which is the only way he ever asks anything.

“Sorry,” Remus says. “I generally don’t divulge my medical history until the second date.” He immediately then sucks on his teeth as though he had suffered a burn to the skin, and adds quickly, “Not that I think this is a date.”

Sirius just laughs. “Wow, which one of us forward now,” he says.

“Oh God, no, I mean, it’s just a turn of phrase, I didn’t mean it like…”

“Relax, Remus, it’s fine.”

“Okay, it’s just, I mean, you’re a stranger, and also I wasn’t sure--am not sure really--if you, well…”

“If I what? Bend that way?”

“That’s one way to put it, I guess. You don’t have to tell me, of course, but I don’t want you to think I was insinuating anything. I mean, I saw you flirting with the barista, but I also know that could have meant nothing, so I really have no idea.”

“You’re rambling,” Sirius says, amused. “And let’s just say I don’t bend the same way James does when it comes to love interests. That answer your question?”

“Technically I never asked a question, which I think is an important distinction, but yes, that answers my...my curiosity.”

“Should I then assume that you’re a little bent as well?”

“I think it would be safe to say that I,” Remus clears his throat a little. “Er, that I bend all sorts of directions.”

Sirius raises his cup and winks. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Christ,” Remus mutters. He flushes and stares determinedly at the table, but Sirius can see the workings of a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Sirius opens his mouth to try and pry further into Remus’ conspicuous health matters, or maybe to learn more about his elusive sexuality, but he is distracted by a strong vibrating on his thigh. He jumps, reaches into his jean pocket, and pulls out his phone, which displays James’ name, along with a photo of the boy Sirius took when his friend fell asleep on the tube once, after a night of drinking.

“It’s James,” he says to Remus, standing up. “Gimme one second.”

He steps away from the table, back to Remus, and answers his phone. “I take it you’re not getting any tonight?” he asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Dude you need to get me out of here,” comes James’ voice. “I think she’s a closet dominatrix or something. She’s trying to get me to come home with her so she can show me her ‘dungeon.’”

“Hah!” Sirius laughs. “Come on, Jamesie, a little sexual exploration wouldn’t hurt you, now would it?”

“I think that in this case, it very literally might. Please come get me?”

Sirius lets out a drawn out, exaggerated sigh. “You are the ultimate cockblock, you know that?”

“What?” James asks. “I’m the one on the date here.”

“Yeah I know, but… ah, never mind. Yes, I’ll come get you. Are you still at the restaurant?”

“Mhm, presently hiding in the bathroom.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“I dunno, that Peter got hit by a car or something?”

“I could run Peter over with my motorcycle, if you think it would help your cause.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt. Now hurry please. I don’t know how much longer I can keep deflecting the dungeon conversation. I’ve already ordered two different desserts.”

“Yeah yeah, your fabled prince to the rescue. Be there in a minute.”

“I kiss the ground you walk upon, sire. See you soon.”

Sirius pockets his phone and goes back to Remus, who is still moving, this time by twiddling his thumbs. He honest-to-God twiddles his thumb while he waits, Sirius thinks with a pained feeling of remorse in his gut, knowing he has to leave this fascinating boy’s company.

“Trouble?” Remus asks when he sees Sirius.

“James,” Sirius says. “Asking for assistance. Apparently his date is trying to literally rope him into some sexual situation that’s a bit above his pay grade.”

“Eek. Guess you have to go save him, then?”

“Afraid so,” Sirius says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut our… coffeshop excursion short.”

“Well, seeing as it wasn’t planned to begin with, I can’t really complain, now can I?”

“We never got to talk about the book.”

“Mm, that is the real tragedy here, yes.”

“Maybe we should get together some other time?” Sirius asks, pulling his jacket off the chair and tugging it back on. “You know, just to talk about the book?”

Remus is already on his feet, tapping his fingers against his thigh, smiling. “Maybe we should,” he agrees, as they head out the front door.

“I’m headed this way,” Sirius nods to the left.

“I’m the other way,” Remus says, gesturing to the right.

“So before I go, if I were theoretically going to get together with you again to discuss this mysterious book we both seem to like, how would I go about doing that?”

Remus grins slyly, gives off a one-shoulder shrug, and says unhelpfully, “If it happens, then it was supposed to,” before waving the briefest of waves, turning away, and walking down the sidewalk.

Sirius gawks after him, not sure how to process being quoted at in lieu of actual plans. He shakes his head, certain he might have just seen the last of Remus Lupin. He turns to the left, stuffing his cold hands into his pockets. He stops in his tracks, feels something with his right hand, and pulls out a napkin he doesn’t remember putting there.

“ _For my medical history and more, call_ :” it says, with a number scrawled beneath it.

Sirius breaks into an uncontrollable grin, stuffing the number back into his pocket and heading towards his motorbike up the street. He mounts the bike, and speeds towards James’ rescue, the glow of the full moon lighting his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius and Remus both fall for each other way too fast.

Sirius has been staring intermediately at Remus’ tiny scrawl for over an hour. In between examining the way Remus writes his letters, he stares at his phone, sometimes opening a new message, typing Remus’ number into it (which he has now committed to memory), and then promptly deleting it. Unfortunately, James has noticed this pattern.

 

“Who have you been not texting since we got home?” he asks, coming up behind Sirius by leaning over the arm of their secondhand couch. Sirius, lying on his back with his phone in front of his face, looks up at James and scowls.

 

“Go away,” he says, deleting the blank message on his screen and sitting his phone beside him near his thigh.

 

“No, come on, tell me,” says James, going over, lifting Sirius’ legs, sitting down, and resting them over his lap. “I’ll be nice, promise.”

 

“That would be a first,” says Sirius to the ceiling. “I dunno. I met a guy.” He says nothing else.

 

“Okay,” James says, furrowing a brow. “You met a guy. And…?”

 

“Gave me his number. Dunno what to do with it.”

 

“Well, call or text him, presumably.”

 

“Mm,” says Sirius, covering his face with his hands. “What do I say, though?” His voice is muffled.

 

“When in your life has that ever been a problem?”

 

“Now. Now it is a problem.”

 

“Why? Is this guy a royal or something? Some famous bloke who’s got your pants in a twist?”

 

Sirius stops covering his face and instead starts compulsively running his fingers through his hair. “No. No, I met him at a bookshop--”

 

“--You were in a bookshop?”

 

“Shut up, I read. Anyway, I met him in a bookshop, and we both were trying to buy the same book, and he was like, quoting it off the top of his head at me, and he told me to keep it because I needed it more or something, and so then I gave him a dumb book for like no reason, like why did I do that, I guess I thought it would be funny, but he actually bought it, and then went to Rosemerta’s coffee place with me, but then your dumb arse had to get rescued from a woman who wanted to dress up in spandex and whip you with things, and I don’t know, James, he had such a ridiculous hat, how am I supposed to text him?”

 

“How did you say all of that in one breath?” James asks, and Sirius smacks him across the face with one of their mismatched throw pillows. “Okay, okay, shit, sorry,” he amends, laughing. “So you met this book nerd with a ridiculous hat, and you’re afraid to text him?”

 

“Not afraid,” says Sirius, back to talking to the ceiling. “Stuck. I’m stuck on what to say to him. Like, I talked to him for maybe forty five minutes, max, and I already know he’s way smarter than me. Like, why did he even give me his number?”

 

“Maybe he was wooed by your punk rock charm?” James suggests, but quickly adds, when he sees Sirius’ glare, “I dunno man, he probably gave you his number because he liked you. That’s usually what that means, you know?”

 

“Maybe,” Sirius says to a particularly long and jagged crack in the drywall above him. He doesn’t see James roll his eyes, but he knows that it happens.

 

“What book were you both trying to buy?”

 

Wordlessly, and without moving his gaze, Sirius reaches over to the coffee table and grabs the book, still where he left it over an hour ago. He holds it out to James.

 

“ _A Life Worth Living_?” James reads aloud. “Looks shitty. What’s it about?”

 

“Mm, it’s about this dude who can go back in time at will, but only in sixty second intervals. And so he’s married to this lady, right? And one day she gets hit by a car while they’re out walking or something, I don’t remember exactly, but she dies. So the dude goes back sixty seconds in time and stops her from getting hit, but it messes with the Universe or fate or something, and from that moment on, the lady’s life becomes this series of accidents that the dude has to save her from. He gets consumed by keeping her alive, but then in the end, it turns out she has terminal cancer, and was actually secretly dying the whole time, and since he can only go back in time sixty seconds, there’s nothing he can do, so he’s forced to ‘face her mortality,’ or something, and it’s some big commentary on accepting fate, and not taking things for granted, yada yada. It’s kinda, _Final Destination_ meets _The Notebook_.”

 

“Huh. Sounds shitty, too,” says James, and Sirius shrugs.

 

“I actually quite like it. I read it once before. If you can get past the preachy subtext, the writing is pretty decent.”

 

“If you say so,” James says, tossing the book back onto the table. “So this dude of yours is really into this book, then?”

 

“Oh yeah. Way more than I am. He could probably recite the whole damn thing from memory if he wanted to.”

 

“Why don’t you talk to him about that, then? Ask him, I dunno, his favorite character, or passage, or, you know, book shit.”

 

Sirius shrugs again. “Maybe,” he says in a noncommittal tone that makes James slap him across the knee.

 

“For Christ’s sake,” he says. He reaches over and snatches the napkin that’s sitting on Sirius’ chest. “Medical history?” James asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“He’s sick,” Sirius says, not noticing as James grabs his phone of the couch and begins to type the number on the napkin into it. “Dunno with what. He mentioned it a bunch in passing, though, saying he couldn’t work because of health problems, and he was wearing a medical bracelet. Like, those ones people wear so paramedics know what’s wrong with them if they're in an emergency. I didn’t get a chance to read what it said, though. He told me he’d tell me what was wrong with him if I saw him again.”

 

“You’re pathetic,” James says, lifting Sirius’ legs again and standing. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds, tossing Sirius’ phone to him. Sirius catches it with a befuddled look.

 

“Why?” he asks cautiously. “What did you do?”

 

“I’m gonna go to my room and study. I’ve got finals next week,” James says evasively.

 

“James Potter,” Sirius demands, pulling himself into a sitting position. “What did you do? This thing is password protected.”

 

“You really think I’ve gone this long without figuring out your passwords to everything? I’m surprised that you still haven’t noticed that your email signature for the past month has been _‘Sirius “the big and” Black_.’”

 

“Wait, my email signature is what?”

 

“Au revoir, sweet prince!” says James cheerfully as he leaves the room.

 

“Absolute prick,” Sirius mutters under his breath, going to his messages to assess the damage. “Oh, fuck,” he says when he sees his most recent sent text.

 

_-’lo! this is sirius’ mate james. sirius has been lying about the house like a forlorn puppy bc he wasn’t sure what to text u. so bc i’m such a gr8 friend, i’m texting u for him! shhh, don’t tell! k, byee!-_

 

Grumbling, Sirius casts Remus another text.

 

_-ignore that last text, i am friends with a monster-_

Sirius stares at the dark screen of his phone for several minutes, as though willing it to light up with a new message, but to no avail. He tosses it onto the table and picks up the book instead, leafing through it, pretending to be paying attention to it, as though trying to convince himself that he’s not otherwise occupied, anxiously awaiting a text like a lovesick, teenage girl.

 

When the phone does finally vibrate, Sirius is embarrassed at how quickly he pounce on it.

 

_*Am I speaking to Sirius or James now?*_

It is a frustratingly simple text, with no inkling of what sort of emotions Remus was sending it with. Shamelessly, Sirius responds immediately.

 

_-sirius-_

Sirius is pleased that a reply comes just as quickly.

 

_*Hello Sirius. I see you found the note I left you.*_

_-ya-_

He rolls his eyes at himself--at his one word reply. Sirius--normally so overflowing with charisma and bursting with things to say--is at a loss for words. He tries again.

 

_-i was worried i wasn’t going to see you again. before i found the note, i mean-_

_*Ha! I’m just glad you found it before you swapped jackets, or got snow in your pocket.*_

_-what a tragedy that would have been-_

_*I do seem to remember telling you to call me, not text me. Just saying.*_

_-didn’t know i was supposed to take it literally. who actually calls anyone nowadays?-_

_*I do.*_

_-hm, fair enough. shall i call, then?-_

_*Yes.*_

Sirius can’t explain the rush of adrenaline that fills his belly when he presses the ‘call’ button on his phone. It doesn’t make sense to be anxious over a phone call--he’s spoken to this boy in person already, how could this be so different?--but still, his gut clenches when he hears Remus’ matter-of-fact voice say, “Hello?”

 

“Hi,” Sirius says. “Why phone calls instead of texting?”

 

“Is there something wrong with phone calls?”

 

“I mean, no, not inherently. It’s just, I dunno, easier to text.”

 

“Texting takes too much effort if you want to say anything substantial. It’s good in a pinch, or for simple responses, or for talking to someone you don’t really want to engage with, but I’m still partial to hearing one’s voice, and them hearing mine. Makes for better conversation.”

 

Sirius tugs at his cheeks in exasperation. There is simply no way-- _no way_ \--any one person can be this interesting.

 

“You’re so strange,” Sirius says before he can stop himself, and on the other line he hears Remus laugh.

 

“Thanks,” he says in mock offense.

 

“Not in a bad way,” Sirius says quickly.

 

“Oh, you meant ‘so strange’ in a good way?” Remus asks, and he sounds much too amused.

 

“Yeah. Like, you know how when you go to an exotic food restaurant and try something new, you’re like, ‘wow, this is really strange,’ because you’ve never experienced it before, but you still eat it because it’s still really good? You’re that kind of strange.”

 

“Oh my God,” Remus says, laughing hard. “The man makes analogies comparing people to exotic food, and I’m the strange one.”

 

“Oh, stuff it,” Sirius says happily. “Change of subject. What are you up to?”

 

“What am I up to? Um, well, nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid. Reading in bed, thinking about going to sleep. Spoiler alert, that’s generally what I’m doing at any given time.”

 

“I can respect that. If I’m not at work, I’m generally eating crisps and playing video games.”

 

“What an exciting pair we make,” says Remus deadpanned. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to since we parted ways. James already informed me.”

 

“James is a Goddamn wanker who will be punished thoroughly for that.”

 

“Is there more petty theft in your future?”

 

“Even worse.”

 

“Nothing more dangerous than a bruised ego.”

 

“Shut up. Actually, I wasn’t just ‘lying about the house like a forlorn puppy.’ I was going through our book here a little while ago, before you texted back. I’ll be honest, I’ve forgotten a lot of it. It’ll be like reading it for the first time, except now I know the end.”

 

“That’s why I love rereading it. Everything seems so much more significant when you know what it’s all leading up to.”

 

“More significant, sure. Definitely more depressing, too. You certainly picked a bleak book to be your favourite.”

 

“I don’t think you really ‘pick’ your favourites. I think, more realistically, you happen upon something that speaks to your innermost morals and fears and beliefs, and then it becomes a favourite. It’s consequential, not purposeful.”

 

“Mm, maybe, but then, my favourite food is shepard’s pie, and I don’t think that really speaks to me on any sort of core level.”

 

“Oh, I doubt that,” says Remus. “I mean, think about it--shepard’s pie is a pretty simplistic meal. By culinary standards, there are much, much better foods. So then, why is that your favourite? Probably, you associate it with a memory, or a time. Maybe you ate it as a child, and your subconscious is reliving those moments through sense memory. You may think it’s your favourite just because it tastes better than other foods, but I bet it tastes better than other foods because of more reasons than just flavor.”

 

“...I guess I’ve never taken my meal choices so seriously that I felt the need to psychoanalyze them.”  

 

“You’ll come to find, should we continue this acquaintance, that I take everything seriously.”

 

“Do you want to make the ‘serious’ joke, or should I?”

 

Remus laughs. “How about neither of us makes it, and just pretend we did?”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“What part are you at in the book?”

 

“Oh, I was just skimming through the whole thing. I haven’t officially started rereading it yet.”

 

“Ooh, so you’re right at the beginning then.”

 

“Mhm. I bet you know the opening line by heart, don’t you?”

 

“‘Donald McAlison, master of time and consequence, made a dire mistake on the 8th of August, a Sunday, by saving his lover’s life,’” Remus recites.

 

“I don’t even have to check to know you got that right, right down to the letter,” Sirius says, impressed, yet unsurprised.

 

“I don’t need you to check either,” says Remus smugly. “You should read of it aloud to me.”

 

“I should what now?”

 

“Read some of it to me, starting from the beginning. If you’re going to be reading it anyway, I want to hear it too.”

 

“What’s the point, you’ve got it all memorized anyway,” Sirius teases.

 

“Yes, but I’ve never had someone else to share it with,” Remus says sincerely.

 

“You want me to read it now?”

 

“If you’re up to it. You don’t have to read much, if you don’t want to. Just until you get tired. I’m quite bored, you see, all I have to read is a book called _Football’s Greatest_.”

 

“I still attest that that was a _joke_ ,” says Sirius, flipping the book to the beginning. “So, what, do I just read?”

 

“Yeah, do you have it?”

 

“Mhm, I’ve got it open to the first page.”

 

“Good. You read, I’ll listen.”

 

“This was a ploy, wasn’t it? You let me buy it, but you still get to hear it.”

 

“Everybody wins,” says Remus.

 

“Yeah, alright then. Uh, okay. ‘Donald McAlison,’” Sirius begins, reading the words Remus correctly recited moments ago. “‘Master of time and consequence, made a dire mistake on the 8th of August, a Sunday, by saving his lover’s life…”

 

\---

 

Remus wakes up in the dark, still in his day clothes, at three thirty am. His phone is lying by his head, and his arm is stiff from sleeping on it funny. It takes him a moment to remember how he fell asleep like this.

 

But then he remembers--oh! how he remembers Sirius Black reading to him his most favourite of novels. Simple Remus is not difficult to please--has very attainable dreams--of which being lulled to sleep by being read Eugene Washburn’s beautiful words is one of them. This curious man, this Sirius Black, with his motor oil scented skin, and deep, rumbly voice so adept at reading, might possibly be Remus’ soulmate. But then, Remus is prone to falling in love with any attractive person who appreciates fine literature, so he’s not thinking much of it.

 

He checks his phone and sees he has one new message.

 

_-u fell asleep. dunno how much u heard, i carried on for ages before i realized u weren’t listening. my apologies. how dull a reader i must be if you fell asleep during your favourite book! sleep well, remus. talk to me again, perhaps?-_

Smiling, still mostly asleep, Remus casts a message in reply.

 

_*Not dull in the slightest, my body is just very insistent when it thinks it’s time to sleep. You should fill me in on the parts I missed. Perhaps tomorrow (or I suppose, it is now today)? I’ll be at the bookshop ‘round seven, should you wish to find me. Now back to sleep. Goodnight.*_

Without bothering to change into night clothes, Remus rolls on his side, and is back to sleep in moments. He won’t remember in the morning, but he dreams of mechanic shops and delicious hot chocolates all night long.

 

\---

 

Remus doesn’t awake again until well past noon. And then, he doesn’t actually get out of bed until one, and that is only because of a desperate need to pee, and because his mouth tastes sour and gummy from not brushing his teeth the night prior. He undresses and stands in the shower, the water just below blistering, soaking up the steam and letting it wash the grogginess from his ill bones. Even in the house he wears several layers, the topmost being a particularly ugly sweater, knitted for him by his grandmother on his mother’s side.

 

It is a Saturday, and so the house is empty. His mother spends most of every Saturday drinking tea with friends, which usually devolves into drinking wine with friends, and she comes home in a bit of a state and then naps until supper. Remus’ father works at a candle shop on the weekends, in addition to his government office job, to try and bring in a little extra money. Remus, ill and jobless, does very little on Saturdays.

 

He is, then, quite relieved when his doorbell rings. He opens his front door to see his afternoon caller is Lily Evans.

 

“‘Lo Remus,” she says, letting herself inside without invitation. “I was trying to study for my university finals, but my brain simply can’t absorb another morsel of information, I’m telling ya. So I thought to myself, ‘poor Remus is probably all alone today, wallowing in self-pity, reading the same book he’s read a thousand times. I should go and save him from himself.’”

 

“How thoughtful,” Remus says, closing the door and crossing up his arms. He gives Lily an unamused expression.

 

Lily is quite beautiful. She is petite, with a pronounced collar bone, and sharp facial features which are outdone only by the brightness of her ginger hair, and her piercing, emerald eyes. Remus, whenever he has to listen to Lily’s incessant ramblings about trashy boys who don’t deserve to touch her body, makes a habit of trying to count all the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and on her cheeks. The highest he’s ever gotten to is sixty five, before he once again lost count.

 

For a time, Remus thought he might fancy Lily, and even once kissed to her to be sure. Her lips very closely resembled the texture of marshmallows, and she smelled quite nice, but it was mutually agreed that the kiss was like a frayed electrical cable--there was simply no spark.

 

Upon reflection, it makes sense to Remus. They are very similar people, and Remus doubts he could ever fall in love with himself.

 

“I tried to call you before I came over,” Lily says, sitting down on the couch. “But your phone is off. Did you know?”

 

“Is it?” asks Remus. He gestures to Lily to wait a moment, and goes to his room to retrieve his phone. It is buried beneath piles of blankets, and is completely dead.

 

“I forgot to charge it last night,” Remus tells Lily when he returns. He plugs it into a charger on the wall. “I was, erm, talking to this bloke I met yesterday, and I fell asleep.”

 

“While you were talking to him?”

 

“Yeah. He texted me, and I woke up in the middle of the night, and I...oh.”

 

“Oh?” asks Lily.

 

“Yes. Oh. I, uhm, I think I might have, in a sleepy stupor, asked him on a date this evening.”

 

“What? Really?”

 

“Well, sort of. I told him I’d be at the bookshop tonight if he wanted to come see me, but due to our previous conversation, it had date implications.” Remus then explains the strange story of how he met this man, and Lily listens with rapt attention, and an amused smirk on her face the entire time.

 

“Holy Hell,” she says. “You mean he actually read to you? This stranger? Honest to God?”

 

“I know. I dunno why or how, but this… punk rock mechanic read me a Goddamn bedtime story, Lily. Not only that, but he read me _my book_.”

 

“You should probably marry him. You’ll never meet someone more perfect for you.”

 

“You’re probably right, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I mean, I barely know the guy, and he doesn’t even know about the heart thing yet. That could certainly be a dealbreaker, don’t you think?”

 

“Not if he’s worth anything, no,” says Lily defensively, and Remus smiles.

 

“Not to you, maybe, but then, there aren’t many Lily Evans in this world, are there?”

 

“What a bloody shame to humanity.”

 

“Agreed.” Remus turns his charging phone on. “I wonder if he replied. Maybe I won’t have to worry about seeing him tonight after all. Maybe he’s busy.”

 

“What, and miss an opportunity to see you in all your knitwear glory? Honestly, what sheep shit that sweater out, Remus?”

 

“No sheep, just my Gran. I know it’s ugly, but it’s warm, shut up.”

 

“Well you’re not actually going to wear it on a date, are you?”

 

“It’s more like an implied date, not an official one.”

 

“Even more reason to dress yourself like a suitable human being. Don’t you want this guy to think you’re at least minutely fashion-forward?”

 

“What, you want me to lie?”

 

“If it gets you laid? Absolutely.”

 

“Tsk tsk, you know Lily, I keep trying to tell you that in order to find true love you need to be yourself, but do you listen? Not ever. Nope, I am going to go to the bookshop in warm, comfortable clothing, and should Sirus show up, he will just have to accept me, horrendous sweater and all.”

 

“You’re hopeless. Come on then, has he replied or not?”

 

Remus checks his phone. “Looks like he has.”

 

“What’s he say?”

 

Remus tries not sound like a swarm of butterflies has made a nest in his stomach, although that’s exactly how he feels. The message in his hand reads:

 

_-see u tonight at 7-_

\---

 

Once again, Remus finds himself loitering outside the bookshop, only instead of an incandescent calmness, he is wracked to the bone with worry. Remus doesn’t like to worry, but he does it quite often, and is quite familiar with the feeling. It’s just, he doesn’t like that he is doing it here. He doesn’t like his bookshop to be associated with anxiety, and yet he can’t think of a better place to be right now. This, at least, is his turf.

 

It isn’t logical to be anxious about meeting Sirius, Remus reminds himself, because they have, in fact, already met. Not only that, but they have met, texted, and spoken to each other on the phone, and they are very nearly no longer strangers, so the prospect of seeing him again should not cause Remus’ palms to sweat, and his gut to feel twisted, but unfortunately, that is exactly what is happening.

 

Remus puts mittened hands up to his face and squeezes the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down.

 

“Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?” Sirius’ voice says playfully, and Remus, caught of guard, startles.

 

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t see you coming.”

 

“Probably because you had your eyes covered,” Sirius helpfully points out.

 

“Probably.”

 

They stand in silence. Sirius clears his throat, and Remus claps his hands together repeatedly.

 

“Shall we go inside?” asks Sirius.

 

“Oh,” Remus says. “Yes.”

 

Inside, Pince the bookkeeper is lighting incense and lecturing a young woman on the medical benefits of patchouli oil. Remus motions Sirius to follow him. “There’s a small sitting place in the back of the shop,” he explains. “Pince keeps a lot of strong smelling sage over there, so it’s usually pretty empty.”

 

They come to a set of well-used lounge chairs, and take seats adjacent to one another. Sirius makes a face at the smell, but doesn't comment on it.

 

“I’ll be honest,” he says, once they’re comfortable. “I’m a little nervous right now, and I’m not sure why.”

 

“Me too,” Remus says, laughing a little. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I guess you intimidate me.”

 

“Oh, now, that’s ridiculous,” says Sirius, waving a hand. “I’m not intimidating, I'm a puppy dog. If anyone’s intimidating, it’s you.”  
  


“ _Me_?” says Remus incredulously. “No, I think you’ve got that arse-backwards, Mr. Leather Jacket.”

 

“Nah, it’s definitely you. You know how you said I had a demanding presence? Well you’re like the exact opposite. You’re like this quiet, reserved presence, that keeps you constantly on your toes because you never know what you’re gonna do or say next. That's way more intimidating than having a demanding presence. Everyone already knows what to expect from you if you're loud and attract attention.”

 

“Hm, I just assumed everyone just thought I was very shy and dull.”

 

“No,” Sirius laughs. “It comes off much cooler than that.”

 

“Well thank God,” Remus says, grinning. “No, you might say this is just my ‘quiet and reserved presence,’ but I'm going to be honest now too and tell you that I don’t really know what to talk about.”

 

“Well, you did promise me your medical history. We could start there.”

 

“Oh I did, didn’t I? You don’t miss a punch. Alright then, what the Hell, you’ll find out sooner or later, I suppose. I’ve got this sort of...thing.”

 

“Mm, yes, I figured it would be a thing, yes.”

 

“Yeah, smartarse, whatever. It’s a heart thing. A sort of, defect I guess. In layman's terms, basically my heart just doesn’t pump right. I’ve had surgeries to fix it, but they haven’t really worked, or they’ve only worked for a while. It’s basically just gonna get worse until my heart finally decides it’s had enough, and poof! No more blood circulation.”

 

“What, so there’s nothing you can do about it?”

 

“Well, no, there is. I can replace it. Unfortunately, heart transplants aren’t the easiest thing in the world to come by, and I’m not very high on the transplant list, since I’m not in immediate danger of death. Like, I probably won't die tomorrow, so they don't consider me a priority. It’s kind of the only time you want your illness to get worse, because then they will move you up.”

 

“How much worse than slowly losing heart function does it have to get before they bump you up on the list?” Sirius asks, sounding a little incredulous. 

 

“Heart failure, basically. I’ve actually had it before, but that was before my latest surgery. I’ve technically died three times, though two of those times I was pretty young, so I don’t really remember them. I just remember it hurting a lot when they shocked me back to life.”

 

“Christ,” Sirius says.

 

“Yeah, it’s not the best.”

 

“So, what happens while you’re waiting, then?”  
  


“What do you mean? Like, how does it affect my life? Well, I can’t work or go to school, really. I used to be able to, but nowadays I just get too exhausted. I can’t do anything that strenuous, because it’s dangerous to get my heart rate up too high. And I dunno, I sleep a lot. It’s not as bad as it could be, I guess. I mean, I’m pretty able-bodied, obviously, it’s just, kind of a boring existence.”

 

“Well for someone who has such a boring existence, you’re certainly an extraordinarily interesting person.”

 

“I don’t know if a congenital heart defect really is enough to qualify me as ‘interesting.’”

 

“No, not the heart thing. If anything, that’s the least interesting thing about you. You’re laughing, but I mean it, you’ve got such a unique personality. Or at least I think you do. I don’t know..." Sirius trails off, looking like he's said something embarrassing. 

 

“Thank you,” Remus says humbly, trying not to make his own embarrassment obvious. “Does that mean I haven’t scared you off?”

 

“Scared me off? Because of the heart thing?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“God no! What kind of person hears that someone they like is sick and thinks, ‘well, I’m out?’”

 

“Well, a dick, honestly, but I was giving you the out if you wanted it.”

 

“Nah, Remus, if anything you’ve just reeled me in further.”

 

Remus simply shakes his head in disbelief. “Where the Hell did you come from?” he asks.

 

The question is rhetorical, but Remus looks to Sirius as though expecting an answer. Remus is fiddling with a loose thread on his sweater. Sirius is looking at him like a dog watches a bird through a window, and it’s making the swarm of butterflies nesting in Remus’ belly start to flutter again.

 

There is no set up to the kiss--no words of introduction--Sirius merely leans forward and presses his lips to Remus’. They’re at an awkward angle, and Sirius has a hand on the arm of Remus’ chair to keep himself from falling onto the ground, since most of his body is tilted out of his own chair. Sirius tastes of cinnamon candy and faint hints of what he ate for dinner. His lips are wet and a little rough, and they make Remus feel like hot liquid is being injected into his veins.

 

Sirius pulls away just as quickly as he leaned in, his face flushed and his eyes wide like a child who isn’t sure if they’re going to get yelled at or not.

 

“Sorry,” he says, his voice a little raspy all of a sudden. “I don’t know why I did that.”

 

“I don’t know why you did that either,” says Remus, who is trying to remember how to move his extremities. “But I think... I think I’m glad that you did?"

 

Sirius’ smile is tentative at first, but quickly blossoms into a real one. “I think I am too.”

 

They laugh; give each other bashful looks.

 

“So,” Remus asks after a moment. “What now?”

 

“Well, you already told me your medical history. I could tell you mine, but it’s not that interesting.”

 

“Fair’s fair, you have to.”

 

“Ha, well, I broke my arm once when I was seven, and got my tonsils out when I was ten, and I once had to get stitches because I got into a minor motorcycle accident and sliced up my leg, but other than that I’m pretty healthy.”

 

“Motorcycle accident? Tell me more.”

 

And from there the conversation moves easily, as though their sudden kiss broke any last remaining shreds of ice that still existed between them. They don’t kiss again--don’t even mention it--but it’s at the forefront of Remus’ mind when he goes home that night, and it’s still there as he lays down to fall asleep.

  
Sirius Black seems like an enigma, and Remus isn’t sure how to grapple with this sudden force in his life. But, he thinks to himself as he starts to doze, 'if it happens, then it’s supposed to.' And that thought carries him off into dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to y'all for reading so far. Come say hi to me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com, if you feel the desire to do so. Comments make me swoon, but don't feel obligated. I'll try to get the next update done soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Marauders all end up in the same room together, because I couldn't keep them away from each other that long.

Sirius Black doesn’t fall for people.

 

The longest relationship he ever had lasted for about four months, and ended because his boyfriend said, “I love you,” and Sirius replied, “Cool.”

 

Sirius has lusted after people. He has been attracted to people. He has touched himself to the thought of people. Sirius has even really, really liked people, but never in his life has Sirius fallen for someone.

 

Which is why he can’t put a finger on this feeling he has currently--this feeling like he jumped out of a plane without a chute, but doesn’t expect to splatter when he hits the ground. Or, more accurately, like there isn’t a ground to splatter on--that maybe he’s just free-falling indefinitely through and endless sky.

 

Is this, he wonders to himself, what it’s like to fall for someone?

 

Who would have thought it would feel so much like literal falling?

 

It is Sunday morning, and he is seated at the dining table, which doubles as extra counter space and has a toaster, unopened mail (mostly unpaid bills), a couple brown bananas, crumbs, and something ambiguously sticky on top of it. He has a bowl of cereal in front of him that he isn’t eating. He finds that he can’t stop replaying last night in his mind--like a song stuck in his head, but instead of a verse repeating itself, he keeps seeing himself kiss Remus over and over again.

 

It is possible he is being a bit obsessive, but he can’t really help it. After all, when he kissed this boy, Remus sat completely still for the first time since they met, and how can he _not_ harp on that detail? Remus was rendered motionless by the mere touch of Sirius’ lips, and Sirius desperately needs to know if it was a one off thing, or if he can make it happen every time.

 

He didn’t get the opportunity to test the theory, though, or if he did, he didn’t act on it. In fact, the two of them pretended as though the kiss hadn’t even happened, which, of course, was absurd, because the knowledge of it hung heavy in the air between them the entire evening.

 

Sirius was waiting for Reus to mention it, and when he didn’t, he decided not to either. When they parted ways, Remus wouldn’t meet his eye, and might have been blushing--it was too dark for Sirius to tell for sure. Sirius didn’t need to be able to read minds to know that Remus was wondering the same thing as he was. “Are we meant to kiss again?” was the unspoken question of the evening. Neither of them knowing the answer, they left each other with bashful goodbyes and half-hearted waves.

 

Kissing, Sirius decides, looking down at his soggy mush that once was cereal, is absolutely stupid.

 

There are rules to kissing, and Sirius has dated enough to know the protocol. Usually he follows it pretty much to the letter. The boys he courts are never kissed until the end of the night, and when he does kiss them it is polite, bordering on prudish. Sirius lets them decide if it should go further than that. It usually does.

 

Sometimes, Sirius meets boys in bars, who clearly don’t have any interest in dating Sirius, but more so, want to use him for his body, and Sirius understands that protocol as well. He knows those sorts of kisses are meant to happen in deserted bathrooms, or in dark alleyways, and are, in no way, supposed to resemble anything close to 'polite.' These kisses start out passionate, and devolve into softer versions of themselves when morning has come, and it’s time to say goodbye.

 

There are _rules_ , Sirius thinks, and he has broken all of them in a single fit of self-indulgence.

 

He didn’t _mean_ to kiss Remus, but it happened, and because it happened outside of the _rules_ , he has no idea where to go from here.

 

Because that wasn’t a first-date-type kiss--was it even a date?--but it wasn’t a bar kiss either. That was a kiss that was full of nothing but, “I like you and want to kiss you,” and one that considered none of the consequences. It was the type of kiss one should fully ignore the impulse to act on, and yet he acted on it anyway.

 

Sirius isn’t known for his self-control, but he usually maintains enough to give him the upperhand where boys are concerned. He hasn’t done that here--he has exposed himself, and it feels funny--like, naked-at-school funny.

 

Is this also what falling for someone feels like? he wonders. Is it meant to feel so much like vulnerability?

 

“You’re up early enough for breakfast, and you were home before me last night. Should I assume your date was a disaster?” James, bleary eyed and hair even messier than usual, comes into the kitchen, with Peter close at his heels.

 

“Date?” Peter asks, going straight for the fridge and grabbing juice. He swigs it from the bottle, which elicits a disgusted groan from his roommates.

 

Peter, though one of Sirius’ favourite people, is very different than him and James. He is twenty, like them, but looks about fourteen, because he still carries baby fat in his cheeks and belly. He is the same height as Sirius, but somehow manages to look much shorter. Peter is the type of man who would never hurt you--or, if he decided he really must hurt you, he’d at least not do it himself. He’d hire someone to do it for him. He has little need for spotlight. He likes his hands as clean as possible, and is very often lost inside his own head. Sirius and James are used to repeating things for him, since he very likely wasn’t listening the first time.

 

“Not a date,” Sirius corrects. “Or, I don’t know, maybe it was, but we never said for certain if it was or not. But I already told you about it, remember? I told you yesterday I was going to a bookshop to see a bloke I met.”

 

“Did you?” Peter asks as he pops a couple of slices of bread into the toaster on the table/counter. “Is that why you weren’t home? I was wondering why you weren’t home. I was gonna try and play you in Mario Kart.”

 

“Yes,” Sirius says with amazing patience. “I wasn’t home because I was meeting a bloke, like we have already established.”

 

“Oh,” Peter says, as though this is the first he’s heard of it. “Well, how’d that go, then?”

 

“Good,” Sirius says, now looking back to James. “Not a disaster. We talked about stuff for a while, and that was kind of it. It was nice.”

 

“Well that’s incredibly vague,” says James, taking the seat next to Sirius, moving a pile of paper so he can rest his elbows on the table/counter. “Is that why you’re sitting staring into space with a bowl of soggy cornflakes? Overwhelmed by how ‘nice’ your date was? Or, not date? Or, whatever?”

 

“You know, just because I didn’t sleep with him, doesn’t mean I’m lying about enjoying myself,” Sirius says defensively. “Rumour has it that communication actually contributes to a relationship just as much, if not more, than getting naked with them does.”

 

“Never said that was the case,” James says. “It’s just not usually the case for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius says. He pauses, like he’s going to add some sort of retort, but instead just furrows his brow, and repeats, softer, “...Yeah.”

 

“So you didn’t snog him or nothin’?” Peter asks, leaning against the actual counter.

 

“Well,” says Sirius. “I mean, I did. Sort of. Just a little.”

 

“You sort of snogged him just a little?” James says. “What the bloody Hell does that mean?”

 

“It means, I dunno, it means I kissed him, but just once, and it wasn’t a big deal.”

 

“Since when do you kiss someone and not make a big deal out of it?” asks James.

 

“Yeah, what happened to ‘Sirius Black, Best Snogger England has Seen in a Century?’” Peter adds. Sirius flushes.

 

“I wasn’t sure…” he searches for the words. “Boundaries,” he decides. “I wasn’t sure what the boundaries were. It made me nervous.”

 

Peter and James stare at him for a moment.

 

“What?” Sirius asks.

 

“You were nervous?” Peter asks. “About kissing someone? _You_?”

 

“Am I not allowed to have basic human emotions?” Sirius says haughtily.

 

“Well, I suppose you are,” Peter says. “You just usually don’t.”

 

Sirius is about to protest, but he sees something wicked brewing on James’ face. “What?” he asks with a glare. James shakes his head and grins.

 

“My God,” he says slowly. “You like this bloke.”

 

“Well, obviously,” Sirius says. “Why would I hang out with someone I didn’t like?”

 

“No, you _like_ him,” says James. “Like, you’re developing _feelings_ and things. You didn’t snog him senseless because he’s got your bits all a quiver, and you don’t know how to handle having an actual _thing_ for someone.”

 

He and James, Sirius thinks, need to start spending considerably less time together. They know each other too well.

 

“I barely know the guy,” Sirius says as a response. “Any feelings and things I’m having are purely circumstantial.”

 

“Mate,” says James. “You having feelings and things for anyone, even a guy you barely know, is one step away from a miracle.”

 

“You make me sound like some emotionless monster who only dates men for their bodies.” James and Peter say nothing. “I am not some emotionless monster who only dates men for their bodies! Stop looking at me like that.”

 

“We’re not saying you’re a monster,” Peter says helpfully. “We’re just saying you’re absolute bollocks at relationships.”

 

“Thanks, Pete,” Sirius says bitterly, scowling into his bowl of long forgotten cornflakes.

 

“Forgive us,” James says, a little softer. “It’s just, you’re not usually one to have any sort of, I dunno, wavering confidence. It’s...uncommon to see you uncertain. At least where there’s a boy involved. That’s your area of expertise, after all.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Sirius says, scooping up a spoonful of sloppy cornflakes and letting it splatter back into the bowl with a disgusting ‘plop!’ “This boy just seems a little different, is all. It’s not like I’m proposing marriage or anything. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ve technically dated him yet. I’ve known him, literally, for two days. That’s too early to cast any real judgments, alright?”

 

“Alright,” James agrees. “I am really curious, though, what it is about this kid that’s making you act...so much not like yourself.”

 

“You should introduce us,” Peter adds excitedly. “Invite him over for Sunday supper or something.”

 

“Pete, literally when have we ever had a proper Sunday supper? I’m pretty sure I had a sandwich and stale crisps last week, and I only remember that because we were out of good bread and I had to use the crusty end bits,” Sirius says.

 

“Well, we could order takeaway, I dunno,” Peter says, shrugging. James, Sirius notes with some apprehension, has that wicked look again.

 

“James, don’t even say it. I am not inviting a guy I’ve known for two days to come have a sit-down supper with my roommates. I mean, I’m gay, but I’m not _that_ gay.”

 

“We didn’t say it had to anything fancy,” says James. “Just a few guys getting together for a meal, nothing bent about that.”

 

“Hmph,” says Sirius. “I don’t see how this idea is in my favour at all. I invite him over so, what? You can interrogate him all night?”

 

“I don’t wanna interrogate him,” Peter says innocently. “Honestly, I just want to know what he looks like.”

 

“Yeah, it’s completely friendly,” adds James in a tone that makes Sirius skeptical. “Besides, don’t you want your best friends’ approval?”

 

“I’m not even dating him!” Sirius says. “Or, I dunno if I am. I am ambiguously involved, and I don’t need the two of you making him uncomfortable.”

 

“What if we promised to be on our best behaviour?” asks James.

 

“You on your best behaviour is still completely rotten,” says Sirius.

 

“It’d give you an excuse to see him again,” Peter says. “‘My friends want to meet you, wanna come over for supper?’”

 

In spite of himself, Sirius considers this. Admittedly, he was sort of concerned that he was going to just meet this boy at the bookshop every night for the rest of his life, which is no way to maintain a relationship. Having alternative plans could be beneficial, he supposes.

 

“If you both promise to not torment him, or make him uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form,” Sirius says delicately. “I will _ask_ him if he wants to come over.”

 

“Good man,” James says, standing up and clapping a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “Now, get yourself something else to eat. You playing with your food is making me sick.”

 

\---

 

_-my friends want you to come over for supper-_

Remus blinks at his phone.

 

_*Should I imply by your tone that you’re not keen on the idea?*_

_-no!-_ comes the reply very shortly thereafter. _-no, i’d like to see you. it’s just...my friends. they want to meet you. they will be here. they’ll probably talk to you-_

_*Should this concern me?*_

_-no. yes. maybe?-_

_*Very reassuring! Well, I’d be willing to take my chances, but I’d have to check with Lily. We had tentative plans this evening.*_

_-bring her with!-_

_*?? Really?*_

_-if i’m subjecting you to my friends it’s only fair you subject me to yours. bring her!-_

_*...Well, what time? And where do you live?*_

\---

 

“This very well could be a disaster,” Remus says.

 

“I gathered that from the first four times you said that,” replies Lily, kicking snow off her boots as they climb the stairs up the stoop leading to Sirius Black & Co.

 

“Just making sure you know,” Remus says, staring at the door knocker but not making any attempt to use it. He’s feeling a little unsteady. Remus is a cautious person who makes calculated decisions, except, it seems, where Sirius Black is concerned. When he and Lily first started getting to know each other, it took him two months before he agreed to hang out with her outside of school. This--whatever _this_ is--with Sirius, is making Remus feel like a train going off its rails. He’s not entirely sure if the feeling is unpleasant or not.

 

“Are you gonna let them know we’re here, or are we just going to stand out here and freeze all evening?” Lily asks, looking amused at Remus’ apprehension.

 

“I’m working up to it,” Remus mutters.

 

“Well, then I’ll knock, shall I?” Lily says, never one to dawdle. Ignoring Remus’ small squeak of objection, she reaches over and delivers three hard rapts to the door.

 

There is a commotion from inside the place, which Remus can only assume is Sirius or his friends scrambling to get the door. He quickly glances down at his outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles on his trousers. He does it out of instinct more than anything. Lily warned him against going out in ‘that jumper that looks like someone vomited on the front of it,’ but, true to his word, under his heavy winter coat, Remus remained consciously fashion-backwards.

 

“Remus!” Sirius says, opening the door a moment later, face beaming. “And Lily, right?” Sirius holds out his hand.

 

“Correct,” Lily says politely, taking his hand in hers. Instead of shaking it, Sirius bends over and kisses her chastly on the knuckles.

 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he says in a mock-formal tone. “Here, come in, it’s cold out there.”

 

Lily, a little flushed, casts Remus a look with her eyebrows raised. ‘I know,’ Remus mouths. They follow Sirius inside.

 

The flat is bigger than Remus anticipated, but it is very clearly owned by three twenty year olds. The actual infrastructure of the place is meticulous and of high quality. There are built in shelves, and high ceilings, and a dark, deep auburn coloured wooden floor. It’s the furniture that seems misplaced. It is all secondhand, and it is clear little thought went into matching pieces. Everything looks to be designed for comfort only. Sirius leads them to the sitting room where a big, fluffy, but very ugly couch, sits in the middle of the room, facing a large television, sitting on an old and mistreated entertainment center. There are holes in the couch upholstery, and adjacent to it on either side are two rather large recliners, both covered in a clashing floral design, which would be better suited in a house full of old ladies and their cats.  The whole place gives off this air that some rich bloke hired a bunch of uni students to move in and trash his place.

 

“You’re wondering how we afford this place, aren’t you?” Sirius asks, catching Remus’ eye.

 

“I was actually wondering what possessed you to try and match floral and cream coloured fabrics,” Remus says. “But now that you mention it, how do you afford this place?”

 

“Did Sirius not mention that he’s loaded?” a man says. He stands up from one of the recliners and he and Remus regard one another. The man is athletic looking, with untidy hair, and wire rim glasses. “I’m James, by the way, since Sirius hasn’t bother to introduce us,” he says. “And this is Peter.” He nods at a boy sitting on the couch. He is chubby in the face and belly, and gives Remus an awkward smile, and a curt wave.

 

“I was getting to it,” Sirius says defensively, scowling at James. “They just got here for christssake.”

 

“Oi, hold on a moment,” James says suddenly, tearing his eyes away from Remus and fixing his gaze on Lily. “Who’s this?”

 

Lily’s eyes narrow. “I’m Lily,” she says, matching James’ gaze with suspicion. “I’m Remus’ friend.”  

 

“Lucky Remus,” James says. He sounds confident, but a small bloom of red colours his cheeks. Lily opens her mouth, as though about to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she just stares at James likes he’s some kind of strange insect for a second, until Remus says,

 

“Um, just a moment, can we back up here?” He turns to Sirius. “What was that part about you being loaded?”

 

“Oh,” Sirius says, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Remus’ eyes. “I wouldn’t call it loaded, necessarily.”

 

“I would,” Peter says from the couch he’s still lounging on.

 

“Shut it, Pete. No, I mean, I got a decent inheritance from my Uncle Alphard when he passed. This was his place. He left it to me along with… some money.”

 

“A lot of money,” says Peter. James nods in agreement.

 

“Some money,” Sirius repeats lamely. “Not that important, really. Do you two want to sit down? Take your coats off? Want something to drink?”

 

“Why do I feel like you’re deflecting?” asks Remus.

 

“Because he is,” James says helpfully. “He doesn’t like to talk about his weird, rich, inbred family, but if you have a seat, Pete and I will tell you all about it.” He motions for Peter to make room on the couch, and gestures to Remus and Lily to sit next to him. James himself sits back down on his recliner. He looks up at Sirius, who is scowling, as though things aren’t going the way he expected, (or maybe, as though things are going exactly as he expected, and he’s pissed about it). “Sirius, be a dear and fetch our guests some refreshments,” James says with a cheeky smile.

 

Sirius looks murderous, casting Remus an expression that clearly says, ‘I did warn you about them,’ but instead says, “Sure thing, Jamesie. What do you guys want. Coke? Tea? Coffee? We don’t have coffee. But we do have beer, and an assortment of hard liquors.”

 

“I don’t need anything,” Remus says with a small smile. Lily, who is looking at James with an expression of annoyance and maybe curiosity, murmurs,

 

“Yeah, we’re fine, thanks though.”  

 

“I want a Coke,” Peter says to Sirius.

 

“Yeah, me too,” James says. “Make sure to put it in a glass with lots of ice.”

 

“I thought I was meant to be getting our guests refreshments, not you two,” Sirius says grumpily.

 

“Yeah, but you’re closest to the kitchen, so chop chop,” James says, clapping his hands twice. Sirius rolls his eyes, and looks back to Remus and Lily.

 

“Please say you want something so I can look less whipped when I inevitably go into the kitchen and get James and Peter drinks,” he says.

 

“A glass of water, then,” Remus says, laughing. “Thank you.”

 

“Lily?” Sirius asks.

 

“I’ll take a Coke, I guess, thanks,” she says.

 

Sirius nods and goes off into a room Remus assumes is the kitchen. From beside him, Lily scoffs at James’ self-satisfied smile.

 

“Do you always torment your friends, or is it just something special for our benefit?” she asks him haughtily. James looks surprised, but casts her a charming smile, and says,

 

“It’s just a little harmless fun,” he says. “He knows I don’t mean it.”

 

“Seemed a little unnecessarily mean to me,” Lily counters, glaring at him. Remus elbows her in the side and gives her a look. She shrugs at him. “What, it did,” she says.

 

“Oh, Sirius and James are mean to each other all the time,” Peter informs her happily. “Just the other day James put a garter snake in Sirius’ pillowcase. Sirius screamed like a little girl, it was brilliant. James got it on camera.”

 

“How mature,” Lily says sarcastically to James, who looks so smug Remus can practically feel it radiating off of him.

 

“You were going to mention,” Remus interrupts before the two of them can bicker anymore. “Sirius’ family, weren’t you?”

 

“Oh yeah,” James says, turning away from Lily, and instead grinning wickedly at Remus. “Not surprised he didn’t tell you. He really hates them. He comes from this super rich family. Like, we’re talking, money that has been passed down for generations upon generations. They’re practically royalty, it’s pretty gross. They’re also almost all massive douchebags, and are kind of racist bigots. They hate Sirius as much as Sirius hates them. He ran away when he was sixteen and came and lived with me and my folks, and I don’t think they’ve been in contact with him since.”

 

“You forgot to mention the part where they completely cut me off from all their money and name status,” Sirius says, emerging from the kitchen with a tray full of drinks. “That’s important to note.”

 

“Yeah, except your Uncle Alphard took pity on you, and when he kicked the bucket you still got more money than Pete and I are ever going to see in our entire lifetimes, so don’t act like you’re suffering in great poverty or anything,” James says to him with a look of amused annoyance. “Don’t look so downtrodden, Remus was bound to found out your horrible secret sooner or later.”

 

“It’s not a secret,” Sirius says to Remus, handing him a glass of water. “I just, dunno, don’t want to sound like I’m boasting or anything. I know people can get a little weird when money’s involved.”

 

“Sirius, I forgive you for being a rich kid,” Remus says teasingly. “And here’s the part where I let you know that I am definitely not a rich kid, not even by half. Hope that’s not a problem.”

 

“I forgive you,” Sirius mimics with a smile. “‘Sides, Peter and James have been suckng me dry for years now. You can’t be any more helpless than they are. Speaking of which, Peter, go sit over there, I wanna sit by Remus.”

 

Remus grins a little as Peter goes to the other recliner and Sirius settles in next to Remus on the couch.

 

“Besides, I may be a rich kid, but we live like meth addicts. We have to order takeaway for supper, because there’s literally nothing to eat in this house except cornflakes, toast, and three day old pasta.”

 

“Ha, well that’s alright with us,” Remus says, and Lily nods. “Honestly, you could live in a gigantic garbage can and I would still be jealous of you. I wish I could live in my own place. I hate living with my parents.”

 

“Why don’t you just get your own place, then?” Peter asks.

 

“Well, I can’t live by myself, for one thing. I’ve got, erm, some health issues.”

 

“Oh, you mean that heart thing that’s killing you?” Peter says. “Sirius mentioned that, yeah.”

 

“Peter, you tactless bastard,” Sirius says with a glare.

 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Remus says a little awkwardly. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s just I have to live with people who know what to do in case there’s, like, an emergency or something. But since I can’t work right now, I don’t have enough money saved up to rent a flat with roommates.”

 

“I’d just let him live with me,” Lily adds. “But my place is small, and my landlord would evict us if he knew he was staying there and not paying rent.”

 

“Staying with my parents is kind of the only option right now, unfortunately,” says Remus with a halfhearted shrug. “They mean well, but it is kind of the worst.”

 

There is a split second of deafening silence, during which Remus sees James and Sirius exchange a significant look with one another. They seem to have an entire wordless conversation, but Remus doesn’t know what’s being said.

 

“What?” he asks them. James sort of shrugs one shoulder, and Sirius just shakes his head.

 

“It’s nothing,” says Sirius.

 

“It was something,” Remus counters. “Did I say something weird? Why’d you look at him like that?”

 

“No, it wasn’t anything you said, it’s just… 100%, if I say it, it’ll be weird, so probably just forget it.”

 

“Well now you definitely have to say it,” Lily says, looking as puzzled as Remus feels.

 

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” asks Peter, also seeming bewildered. Then a dawning realization sort of washes over him. “Oh!” he says. “Is it about that extra room we’ve been meaning to rent out?”

 

James and Sirius both look at Peter with identical looks of absolute exasperation.

 

“Why do we keep you around?” James asks. “We should replace you with a dog. It might be more responsibility, but at least it wouldn’t be blabbing all about the place all the time.”

 

Peter just shrugs.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks. James just sighs at him, as Sirius turns back to Remus, rolling his eyes.

 

“We have a room,” Sirius explains begrudgingly. “That we’ve been talking about getting someone to rent out, just because we can, and we like having roommates, and it’d be a little extra money. It’s just, obviously we don’t really _need_ that money, so what James and I were, uh, both thinking--at least I think this is what James was thinking too--was that if you really needed a place that was cheap, or even free, to crash for a while, well… we have one.”

 

“Oh,” Remus says. “Um.” He can think of nothing else.

 

“Yeah, that’s why I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sirius says quickly. “I know it’s weird. Really weird. Especially since you and me are, well...” He clears his throat.  “But, I mean, we were going to let a complete stranger move in with us, so technically, you’d be one step up from that, because at least we sort of know you.” Sirius laughs a little awkwardly.

 

“Oh,” Remus says again, trying very hard to keep his face neutral. Screw a train going off the rails--this thing with Sirius is more like a train going off the rails, over a cliff, and into the a bottomless ocean. What’s worse, is Remus finds he’s actually considering the idea. This isn’t, he thinks very resolutely, how normal people do things.

 

“It’s not like you have to say you want to move in with us right here right now,” James says casually, regaining his composure. “We’re in no rush. If it makes you feel better, get to know us a little more, see if it’s something that interests you.”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius adds. “It’s a totally no pressure thing. It’s just, you have a tricky problem, and we just so happen to have a solution, should you want to consider it.”

 

“Okay,” Remus says slowly. “I’ll think about it. I mean, let’s just, uh, let’s see how we all get on. I’ve only known James and Peter for about fifteen minutes, that’s not a lot to base things off of, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Of course. Just… know the offer stands.”

 

“Well, I dunno about you all,” Lily says after no one speaks for a good long, uncomfortable moment. “But I’m starving. Didn’t you say something about ordering takeaway?”

 

From there they all move easily around each other, as though they haven’t all just met for the first time. They order curry from a Thai place nearby, and laugh and talk about themselves and their lives, with none of the usual discomfort or social niceties that come with first conversations. Remus finds he likes the way Peter always says what he feels, even if sometimes it comes off as tactless. He learns that James can make even an sports anecdote entertaining through his talent at storytelling. Sirius, of course, leaves his sick heart beating even funnier than usual, casting him sidelong glances and charming smiles throughout the whole night, as though checking up on him and making sure he’s still comfortable. The truth is, Remus has hardly felt this comfortable in a very long time.

  


“We better go,” Remus says after a while, checking his watch. “I’ve got bedtime pills I’ve got to take, and a congenital heart defect that’s making me very sleepy.”

 

“We understand,” says James, who had been bickering with Lily over something having to do with bureaucracy within the university system--Remus isn’t sure of the specifics, he had started tuning them out because they seemed to find something to argue about in every subject that got brought up. “This was fun, though. You should come ‘round again sometime. Both of you,” he says, looking pointedly at Lily, who purses her lips at him.

 

“Do you play Mario Kart?” asks Peter.

 

“Mm, I think maybe I have played it once at a school friend’s birthday party ten years ago,” Remus says.

 

“We’ll teach you. We have tournaments against each other. You should come by and play with us.”

 

“Yeah, alright,” Remus says laughing.

 

“Don’t mind him, he’s a child,” Sirius says, standing and holding out a hand to help Remus up.

 

“Really? I seem to recall you telling me that you spend the majority of your free time eating crisps and playing video games,” says Remus.

 

“I never said I wasn’t also a child,” Sirius counters. “Here, I’ll walk you two out.”

 

Lily and Remus wave goodbye to to Peter and James, and get led out the front door by Sirius. He and Remus lock eyes and sort of hover uncertainly at the threshold. Lily laughs.

 

“I’ll wait for you at the corner,” she whispers into Remus’ ear. And then to Sirius, says, “I had a lovely evening, thank you for inviting me,” before she heads down the stoop, wrapping her arms around herself in the bitter air.

 

“I had a nice time too,” Remus says to Sirius once Lily is out of earshot, speaking in a soft, hushed tone.

 

“Yeah, James and Peter were fairly well-behaved. It wasn’t a total disaster.”

 

“I actually quite like them. I think we got on really well.”

 

“I’m glad,” says Sirius. “Look, I hope I didn’t scare you off, or make you uncomfortable, or whatever when I said we had an empty room. I really didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”

 

“I know,” Remus says. “And honestly, it would be a great opportunity, it’s just...there are things to consider.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well,” Remus says, gesturing between the two of them. “This, for example. Whatever this is, I mean. I doubt this comes as much of a surprise, but I think I fancy you a bit.”

 

Sirius laughs. “Yeah, I fancy you a bit, too.”

 

“Good. That’s lovely. Great, even. But if I were to consider moving in...I dunno, I’m not sure if I could really do that and be involved with you at the same time. As...more than friends, I mean.”

 

Remus feels the energy between them shift, as Sirius processes this. “Why? I mean, they don’t seem mutually exclusive to me.”

 

“Sirius,” Remus breathes. “That would be like moving in with my boyfriend right after I’ve met him. We might be doing everything about ten times faster than is advised, but I’m still a _little_ old-fashioned at least.”

 

“I guess,” says Sirius. “I mean, I see what you’re saying. But what would we do about it? Would we just have to pretend like we aren’t attracted to one another?”

 

“I dunno,” Remus says honestly. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s not something I can make a snap judgment about. I have to think about it. There are too many questions in the air right now.”

 

To Remus’ surprise, Sirius actually laughs at this. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s just...God I’m gonna sound like you, but when I got home last night, I read a few chapters of our book--” Remus doesn’t mention the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Sirius calls it ' _our'_  book. “--And there was a quote in it that stood out to me, that I really liked. I even underlined it, which I never care enough to do. It was, um, how'd it go...? ‘If you spend all your time asking questions--’”

 

“‘--You never really get to experience the answers,’” Remus finishes for him, and then shakes his head. “Oh, that’s a nasty trick. You can’t use my book against me, it’s cheating.”

 

Sirius just shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t write it.”

 

“No,” Remus agrees. “If you had, this conversation would be of a whole different sort.”

 

“If I had written it you would have already moved in two days ago, the night we met.”

 

“Without a doubt. Now,” Remus says. “Poor Lily is waiting for me out there on the cold sidewalk, so I really must go. But,” he leans over and kisses Sirius very gently on the cheek. “I promise I will think about it, alright?”

  
“Alright,” Sirius says. “Be safe.” He gives Remus’ shoulder a tight squeeze. Remus waves as he walks down to the sidewalk to join Lily. A light snow falls from the overcast sky, and Remus, with his lips tingling from the feel of Sirius’ stubble, wonders if always staying on the train tracks might be overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is killing me, you guys, why did I start it? Whatever, let me know what you think. As always, feel free to drop me a line at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com. Thank you endlessly for your continued support of my masochistic tendencies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which holiday drama happens. (Even though I'm updating this in August...never too early for Christmas, I suppose?)

Remus’ mouth tastes like homemade Christmas cookies. It is a new recipe Lily is trying out, and so far she’s stuffed him full of four different variations of sugar cookies covered in red and green sprinkles.

 

“The secret,” she says, sliding the newest batch onto the cooling rack. “Is freezing the dough first. Makes them softer.”

 

Lily takes the holidays very seriously. She lives for the cooking and the decorating--she actually enjoys the family togetherness, and aims to make everyone she loves feel included. No one gives a gift like Lily.

 

Remus, on the other hand, while appreciating the Christmas aesthetic, does not very much enjoy the holiday itself. To him, it seems excessive, bordering on gluttonous. His illness allows only minimal splurging on Christmas goodies. He hates attention, and cannot accept a gift without an overwhelming sense of awkwardness. Giving gifts is just as bad. He never believes the recipient’s gratitude is genuine.

 

Mostly, however, the holidays drag on Remus because social convention forces him to spend an extended amount of time with his parents.

 

It should be noted that Remus loves his parents--truly, he does--but he does not particularly like them. He doesn’t fault them for this, necessarily, it’s just that their personalities clash so horribly, they hardly stood a chance of ever getting along.

 

Lyall Lupin has never once in his life critically analyzed anything. To him, the world is a very blatant dichotomy of black and white. To Remus, who sees the world in so many different hues it’s often overwhelming, this seems foolish. He and his father are amicable, but their relationship lacks any depth.

 

And amidst this superficiality, there is an underlying tension, which Remus knows exists because of his illness. Remus has been ill since birth, but for Lyall, who has never suffered more than a three day stomach flu, it is hard for him to accept the extent of Remus’ sickness.

 

It has been told to Remus that when Lyall discovered his wife was expecting a boy, he immediately went out and bought a child’s size football. Lyall isn’t traditional so much as he is simple. It was easier for him to imagine the stereotypical son than to accept whatever child he ended up with. Lyall wanted a sports buddy, a male companion, an active boy to live vicariously through. Instead, he ended up with a son who could die if he so much as kicked a ball too long--a son who would rather spend a Friday night in the bookstore than the pub--who couldn’t drink even if he didn’t.

 

Chronic illness is hard enough for Lyall to get past, so Remus leaves out other details about himself. (Like kissing strange boys, for one.) He does it for Lyall’s sake. They coexist better if they don’t try to understand one another.

 

Hope is another issue entirely. It’s possible she and Remus would have complementary personalities, if Remus had any idea what his mother’s personality is. Hope Lupin spends the vast majority of her time under the influence of alcohol and opiates.

 

This is not something that is often discussed, and if you asked Hope about it, she would insist that it is Not A Problem. She would say that her back is sore, or that her trick knee is acting up again. (If you caught her on an honest day, she would say, “Of course I need pain medication. My son is dying. What greater pain is there?”)

 

When she’s not in bed, she wanders about the house in a daze, or goes to friends’ houses. (Her friends are women who insist that “wine drunk” doesn’t count, and that it’s “five o’clock somewhere!”) She comes home with a slur to all her S’s, and pats Remus on his shoulder. “Me and the girls got carried away,” she says, as if this doesn’t happen every time.

 

(Remus knows it isn’t normal. Remus was prescribed morphine after his last surgery, and woke up one morning with a third of his pills missing. He said nothing--just halved the ones he had left, and gritted his teeth through the pain. He could handle it, he reasoned, but his mother? Her pain tolerance was low.)

 

So while Remus loves his parents, and his parents love him, they interact with each other like uncomfortable roommates. Holidays only serve to amplify this, and it is hard for Remus to get excited about certain discomfort.

 

“What’s your boyfriend doing for Christmas?” Lily asks, kneading a new ball of dough on top of some wax paper.

 

“Not my boyfriend,” Remus says. “And I’m not sure, he hasn’t said.”

 

It has been almost a week since Lily and Remus met Sirius’ friends, and they have been in contact every day since.

 

Sirius works during the day, but sends Remus text messages the whole afternoon. Normally they’re about nothing important, but Remus looks forward to them anyway. At night, Remus insists on phone calls, and Sirius obliges. Conversation between the two of them has become effortless, and they talk until Remus’ body demands he goes to sleep.

 

It is all very confusing for Remus, who never has made a friend easily in his life. Relationships with others has always felt more like a chore than anything, what with the navigating small talk and boundaries until maybe settling into a companionable rhetoric. He’d rather do without it, if he’s being honest. But Sirius is different. Sirius doesn’t feel new. He feels like someone he’s known a very long time--like someone he slides right back in tune with without even trying.

 

“What’s going on between you two, anyway?” Lily asks.

 

“Hm?” Remus asks naively.

 

“Well, you fancy each other, yeah?”

 

“I mean, that’s a fair assumption.”

 

“So…?” Lily prompts.

 

“So what?”

 

“Good God, Remus,” Lily sighs. “You’re hopeless. You fancy each other, so are you gonna date each other? Screw each other? Hell, _snog_ each other at the very least?”

 

“We haven’t discussed it,” says Remus. “We haven’t known each other that long, you know, there’s no rush.”

 

“Yeah, but if you both are for it, why wait?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Remus says, playing with a couple cookie crumbs scattered on the table.

 

“Complicated how?”

 

“Like, I dunno, a lot of things. He is incredibly rich, for one. That’s a little intimidating.”

 

“--A little promising, you mean.”

 

“Plus there’s that whole awkward ‘you wanna live in my house,’ thing. Like, I’m not gonna date the guy and then immediately move into his house. But also, it’s kind of a golden opportunity, and a way for me to get away from mum and dad. I need to figure out what I want to do there.”

 

“Yeah, but it takes you about ten years to make even simple decisions, because you overthink everything.”

 

“And there’s also the whole matter of,” Remus gestures at his chest. “This thing.”

 

“He knows that you’re sick, though.”

 

“Well, yeah, but there’s a big difference between knowing someone’s sick, and actually like, letting someone who’s sick into your life.”

 

“Ah,” Lily says knowingly. “There it is, huh. You’re scared you’ll be a burden.”

 

“I’m not scared,” Remus corrects. “I am simply concerned that he doesn’t know what he’s getting into. I mean, I haven’t talked that much about it, and he doesn’t really seem the type to, I dunno, think literally anything through.”

 

“Sure, but we’re talking dating, here, not marriage. That’s kind of what that’s for--figuring out if you’re compatible.”

 

“Maybe,” says Remus, unconvinced. “But at this point, I’d settle for not dating him if it means that I get to keep him as a friend.”

 

\---

 

Remus’ phone buzzes a little after ten. He lets it ring a few times before answering, because it makes him feel not as overeager. (If Lily were here, she would laugh for ten years.)

 

“Hello?” he says.

 

“Hey there,” comes Sirius’ voice. Remus is still astounded by Sirius’ boundless energy. Even at night, even over the phone, Remus can feel it radiating off of him, as if his whole body were a steady electrical stream.

 

“What are you up to?” Remus asks, trying to suppress the obvious grin in his voice.

 

“Just got home,” says Sirius. “James insisted on going out for a celebratory ‘end of exams’ dinner. We may have gotten carried away on the margaritas. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little tipsy.”

 

“Sounds more fun than my day. I spent most of it in Lily’s overheated kitchen while she made about a thousand Christmas cookies.”

 

“Did she at least let you eat some of them?”

 

“Too many of them. I never want to see another cookie again in my life.”

 

“Ah, well, that’s just tragic.”

 

“All in the name of the holiday spirit, I suppose.”

 

“Ha, I guess so. You got anything special planned for Christmas?”

 

“Just sitting around a mediocre meal with my mum and dad, pretending like we’re not incredibly uncomfortable. The usual. How about you?”

 

“James’ folks do their celebrating on Christmas Eve, so Pete and I are gonna tag along and party with the Potters. Then we just are gonna do our own thing on Christmas Day. Probably exchange gifts and get super drunk off of eggnog that is like, 90% rum.”

 

“That sounds nice. Text me about it so I can live vicariously through you.”

 

“You’re welcome to join us, you know. You, and Lily.”

 

“Thanks, but my parents would take it as a personal affront if I ditched them on Christmas, even if it would make us all better off. And Lily actually likes doing holidays with her family, because she’s not right in the head.”

 

“Damn. Well, the offer stands if you parents get too insufferable or something. James will be bummed about Lily not coming by. I swear to God, he hasn’t stopped talking about her since you were here on Sunday.”

 

“Haha, really? But they bickered the entire night.”

 

“Yeah, that’s how James flirts. There’s a reason he’s been single for almost as long as I’ve known him. Has Lily mentioned him at all?”

 

“Er, you mean besides referring to him as ‘Sirius’ immature manchild of a roommate?’”

 

“So not exactly love at first sight for her, huh?”

 

“Doesn’t appear to be so.”

 

“Ah well, James is used to rejection. It’d be funny, though, if our two best friends hooked up.”

 

“‘If it happens, then it was supposed to,’ and all that,” Remus quotes. He then tries and fails at stifling a yawn.

 

“You sound tired.”

 

“Always.”

 

“Get some sleep. I just wanted to hear your voice before you went to bed.”

 

Remus is glad Sirius can’t see how brilliantly he’s blushing. “Alright. Talk to me tomorrow?”

 

“Of course. Goodnight, Remus.”

 

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

 

\---

 

Christmas Eve in the Lupin household passes by like any typical day. Except for the stockings hung along the mantelpiece with negligence, and a bare-looking tree with a few small boxes wrapped underneath it, one would be none the wiser to the fact that it is a holiday. Remus prefers it this way, of course, because it grants him license to hide in his room, read most of the day, and pretend like tomorrow isn’t imminent.

 

Lily has sent him several texts, all along the lines of, “I know you’re sitting around moping. Stop right now. Tomorrow is Christmas!” He sent her back a “ :/ “ face, and ignored his phone for a few hours.

 

Around midday, Sirius texts him a picture of himself in a nice dress shirt and tie, with the caption, “my Christmas attire.” Remus considers sending a picture back, but he’s wearing an oversized sweater with a mustard stain down the front, so he decides against it. He opts instead for a heart-eyes emoji, sets his phone on silent, and takes a nap.

 

When he wakes up, his room is dark, and he realizes he slept through sundown. He glances at his clock and sees it’s half past eight. His stomach rumbles. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast (which was more like lunch, because he got up at noon--it’s really remarkable how much he can sleep on a given day). He stumbles out of bed and goes to forage in the kitchen.

 

In the middle of constructing a sandwich, Remus hears his parents arguing in their bedroom. This surprises him. It’s not that his parents are the emblem of the perfect marriage, but they usually opt for passive aggression and denial, rather than actual confrontation. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he sneaks a little ways down the hall to get a better listen.

 

“--Wouldn’t be saying anything if it wasn’t becoming an issue,” Remus hears his father saying.

 

“I don’t understand why you’re ganging up on me like this,” Hope says in reply. Remus can tell she’s been crying.

 

“Damnit, Hope, I’m not trying to gang up on you. I just--we can’t afford this, okay? We have practically no money, and you keep spending it on booze, and who knows what else.”

 

“‘And who knows what else,’” Hope mocks. “You make me sound like some crack addict. I spend the money on medicine, Lyall. Not recreational drugs. _Medicine_.”

 

“Medicine that isn’t prescribed to you. I don’t know everything that goes on during your little get togethers on the weekends, but I know you’re not getting those meds from any doctor.”

 

“You honestly think I would be taking them if I didn’t need them?” Hope says sharply. “You think I have some sort of problem, don’t you? Well, why don’t you send me to some center and be done with me, if that’s how you feel.”

 

“That isn’t how I feel.” Lyall sounds exasperated. “I’m not even trying to take them away from you, okay? Just… you need to find another way. We simply can’t keep affording this. I… I understand why you take them, alright? I understand.”

 

“ _Do_ you?” Hope says bitterly. “Do you really? Because sometimes I think you live in some sort of fantasy world, where no one is sick, and everyone is just having a roaring good time, and damnit I wish I could join you there, truly I do, but unfortunately I live in the real world, and in the real world I have seen my baby boy’s heart stop _three separate times_ , so don’t try to tell me what I should and should not do to cope with that.”

 

Hope ends her sentence with a sob. There’s a heavy silence while Lyall takes in his wife’s outburst. Remus leans against the wall, mind blank.

 

“You worry too much about him. He’s fine. He’s doing fine.”

 

“God you’re so naive, Lyall. He has had his chest cut open more times than anyone ever should, he’s only twenty years old, for Christ’s sake. And even still, even with all that surgery and medicine, it’s still going to end with two options: a new heart, or death.”

 

“Well, then we’ll get him the transplant, then,” says Lyall with false nonchalance.

 

“You say that like there are spare hearts growing in the bushes out front. You say that like you don’t know your son’s place on the transplant list. You say that like you haven’t sat next to him while machines pump blood through his body because his heart can’t. You refuse to accept the very real possibility that your son is going to die.”

 

“I have accepted it, Hope. He’s been sick since day one, how could I not know it? But look at yourself. You can barely keep your eyes open. You’re stuffed full of who knows what pills, that you payed for with the last of our savings, and it’s goddamned Christmas Eve. It’s driving you insane, and maybe you’d be better off if you just accepted that maybe… I don’t know, maybe they never should have resuscitated him that first time. Maybe he was never supposed to be alive to begin with.”

 

There is a ringing silence, and then Remus hears his mother’s hand make contact with his father’s cheek, and is so alarmed by the slap that he doesn’t realize she’s storming out of the room before it’s too late. Hope and Remus come face to face in the hallway. Lyall was right--her face has the telltale signs that she’s taken something recently, and her eyes are red and swollen, still wet with tears. Her drugged body takes a moment to register surprise, before she brings a hand to her gaping mouth, and breathes, “Remus. How much did you hear?”

 

At this, Lyall peaks his head out of the room, and he and Remus meet each others eyes. It’s funny, really, that Remus almost feels closer to his father in this moment than he ever has before. He has never heard his father be that honest and opinionated about something before, and he almost feels proud of him.

 

“I didn’t mean it,” Lyall says dumbly after a moment’s pause. “It was a stupid thing to say, and of course I didn’t mean it.”

 

Remus says nothing for a moment, for his mouth feels sewed shut. Finally, he says, “‘Course you meant it.” When Lyall doesn’t dispute him, Remus lets his body carry him to his bedroom. Once there, he throws a clean outfit and his meds into a bag, and shoulders it.

 

Hope calls his name, but doesn’t follow. Lyall still hasn’t left the room completely. Remus bundles himself in his winter jacket and goes outside in the blistery Christmas Eve weather.

 

He knows where he’s going before he has even consciously thought it. He finds himself outside Sirius’ house as though carried there by magic. The windows are all dark. He realizes they are still out at their Christmas party. No matter, he thinks, sitting down on the front stoop and wrapping his scarf tighter around his face.

 

He will wait.

 

\---

 

Sirius is unconvinced of the idea of unconditional love, particularly when it comes to family.

 

James and Peter love him, surely, but he doesn’t have proof that they’ll love him forever. He does have proof, however, that people who were supposed to love him forever, did not. The last Christmas he spent with his family, no one bothered to wake him up in the morning to tell him they were opening gifts, and then his mother yelled at him for getting up so late. He wondered, after he ran away, if the holidays would make his mother feel remorse and loss at her absent son, and maybe seek reconciliation, but he hasn’t heard from her in years.

 

It’s because of this that Sirius is skeptical of Mr. and Mrs. Potter. The way they treat him like their own feels too good to be true, and Sirius has a nervous twinge in the back of his head at every moment that tells him, “one wrong move, and they’ll cast you out just like your own mother did.” Sirius feels guilty for feeling this way, but supposes he can’t help it.

 

Whenever he’s at the Potter’s, he is the epitome of a gentleman. He cleans up after himself, says his “pleases” and his “thank yous,” and turns on the charm tenfold. Peter mocks him mercilessly for this, but James doesn’t. (Sirius suspects James doesn’t tease him because he knows why he does it. James always knows everything about Sirius, after all.)

 

This evening is no different. Sirius navigates the Potter’s house party using every ounce of wealthy boy etiquette he knows. He shakes hands with all of James’ relatives, and pulls out chairs for all the women.

 

“Can I help you in the kitchen?” Sirius asks Mrs. Potter, poking his head through the kitchen door, where Mrs. Potter is slaving away, basting a roast in the oven. She straightens up, wipes a hand on her apron, and nods.

 

“Sirius Black, always so eager to please. Go ahead then, make yourself useful and start putting everything on these platters I’ve got on the counter. You’re always good at making it look nice. Last time I asked James to do it, he just slopped everything down. No presentation or anything.”

 

“Tsk,” Sirius says with a click of his tongue, heading over and dishing potatoes onto a serving dish. “Amateur.”

 

They work in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Mrs. Potter breaks it by saying, “So I hear you’ve a new bloke in your life.”

 

“Mm, I see James was able to keep his mouth shut for about five seconds before blabbing to mum,” says Sirius, and Mrs. Potter laughs.

 

“You know he can never keep a secret from me. He actually told me on accident. He was telling me about some girl he fancies. Said, ‘she’s a friend of Sirius’ new boyfriend.’ Then he said, ‘oops, I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that.’”

 

“Wanker,” Sirius mutters. “Yes, well, he was mistaken. He’s not my boyfriend. Just a boy. Who happens to be a friend.”

 

“I see,” says Mrs. Potter skeptically. “So, no romantic interest at all, then?”

 

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Sirius says vaguely, arranging carrots around the potatoes. “I just said he wasn’t my boyfriend.”

 

“I see. So where’d you meet him? Were you and my son hunting kill at some bar again?”

 

“No, no, I met him at a bookstore, actually.”

 

“You’re kidding. You were in a bookstore?”

 

“You and your son, both so surprised to hear that I read,” says Sirius with mock offense.

 

“Oh, you know I’m just teasing,” Mrs. Potter says with a laugh. “So tell me about him. Is he cute?”

 

“Come now, you know me. Would I be interested if he wasn’t?”

 

“No, but your definition of cute is sometimes a little different than mine. Remember that boy with those weird big holes in his ears, and the nose ring that made him look like a bull?”

 

“He had gauges. It’s a popular, cool fashion statement that we kids are doing, it’s not my fault if you don’t understand. And he had a septum ring, also not that weird,” Sirius clarifies.

 

“Just saying. So does this boy have gauges and septums as well?”

 

“No,” says Sirius. “But he does have curls. And he wears horrendous jumpers. I mean, absolutely dreadful, it’s amazing.”

 

“A boy who wears jumpers that you met in a bookstore? Doesn’t sound like your usual type at all.”

 

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing ‘usual’ about this boy at all.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Dunno,” Sirius says, suddenly a little shy. “Just, he’s unique, you know? Really smart--intimidatingly so, honestly--and so funny, but in like, a weird way. His sense of humour is so dry and sarcastic, and it just comes out of nowhere…” he stops, realizes Mrs. Potter is staring at him. “What?” he asks.

 

“You really fancy this guy, don’t you?”

 

“Erm, well…” Sirius sort of shrugs.

 

“He sounds lovely,” Mrs. Potter says, turning back to her roast. “You should probably get a move on. One of you boys has got to get your act together. I’d like grandchildren before I die, you know.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be banking on James, then? He’s the one whose relationship will have all the right, er, bits for reproduction.”

 

“Yeah, but they got adoption, and that surrogacy thing, and whatever else. You can have as many children as you want. And between you and me, James isn’t exactly acing it with the ladies.”

 

“Ha! Give it time. We’ll find someone to love him.”

 

“I certainly hope so, but until then, I’m banking on you and the boy with the curls and horrendous jumpers.”

 

“Duly noted, ma’am,” says Sirius, pecking Mrs. Potter on the cheek. “I’m going to go check to see if any of our guests need any refills.”

 

“Get me a glass, while you’re at it. White, not red.”

 

“Give me some credit,” Sirius says with a scoff. “I know what kind of wine you like.” And he disappears through the door to tend to the party.

 

\---

 

The boys don’t get home until a quarter ‘til midnight. Peter drives his ragged car through the slushy streets, and only has two near misses in the process. James is a little tipsy--he could never hold his wine--and Sirius is exhausted from acting as a host all night. They are all ready to crash in their respective beds.

 

“Hey,” Peter says as they turn on their street. “Isn’t that Remus?”

 

Sirius, who was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed, looks up immediately. Sure enough, sitting on the front stoop, looking like an icicle, is Remus Lupin--Sirius would recognize that ridiculous winter hat anywhere.

 

“The Hell?” Sirius says. He barely waits for Peter to park the car before he barrels out and approaches him. “Remus? What the Hell man, it’s freezing out here, what are you doing?”

 

Remus looks up at him. Most of his face is covered by his scarf, but the little bit of skin on his cheeks that’s showing is bright red under the porch light. His eyes are red and puffy, and Sirius isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold, or if he’s been crying, and he’s concerned that it’s the latter.

 

Remus mutters something, but it’s stifled by his scarf, and he lets out a tremendous shiver. Sirius helps Remus to his feet and fumbles with his keys, muttering, “Jesus, you look frozen solid, let’s get you inside.”

 

Once they get in, Sirius helps Remus take off his outer things. “You’ll warm up faster if you take off your cold clothes,” he explains. “Pete, get a blanket, would you?”

 

“Thank you,” mutters Remus, rubbing his arms up and down, trying to warm himself.

 

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing out there in this weather at this time of night?” Sirius asks, fully aware he sounds like a concerned mother.

 

“I...my parents and I had a row,” Remus says vaguely. “I left. Didn’t know where else to go. I, uh, ended up here.”

 

Sirius waits for Remus to explain further. When he doesn’t, he says, “How long were you sitting out there?”

 

“An hour. Maybe two.”

 

“You were sitting out there for two hours?!” Sirius exclaims. “Jesus Christ, Remus, why didn’t you text me?”

 

“Phone’s dead.”

 

“Jesus,” Sirius says again. Peter comes back with a blanket, and Sirius wraps Remus up tight in it. “Okay, well, I want more details on what happened, but you look dead on your feet. Come with me, we’ll get you to bed, and you can tell me everything in the morning, okay?”

 

“Okay,” says Remus quietly, letting himself be led to Sirius’ bedroom.

 

Sirius is aware of the implication of taking Remus to his bed, so he says, “I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight, just so you’re more, uh, comfortable. But if you need something, you can come get me. For whatever reason, it’s fine.”

 

“Thank you,” says Remus, as Sirius pulls back his blankets and helps Remus take off his shoes. He pauses to look at Remus more closely. “Are you alright?” he asks, softly.

 

“I don’t know,” says Remus. “I’m better now than I was.”

 

“I can live with that for now, then,” says Sirius. “Lay down. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  
“In the morning,” Remus repeats. And Sirius leaves the room and lets his surprise visitor fall asleep in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I turned Remus' mom into an opiate addict. Feel free to complain about it to me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus sees the Marauder's silly Christmas decorations, and other things happen too.

Christmas morning comes as a quiet visitor. Sirius awakes before sunrise like he used to as a boy. His neck is stiff from sleeping at an odd angle on the couch, and it takes him a moment to remember why he’s there instead of in the comfort of his bed.

 

 _Remus_ , he remembers with a nervous rush in his belly. Remus, with a frozen body and swollen eyes, showed up on his stoop last night, and still he doesn’t really know why. He pulls himself into a sitting position and rubs at his sleep-stained face.

 

“Did I wake you?” comes a voice. Sirius startles, looks up. Remus is sitting across from him in one of the recliners. His legs are criss-crossed on the cushion, and he has a book resting in his lap.

 

“No,” says Sirius, although he supposes it’s possible Remus’ presence woke him. “What are you doing? It’s early, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, it’s about five,” says Remus. “I woke up about an hour ago and got self-conscious about laying in your bed.”

 

“So you decided to watch me sleep instead?” Sirius asks with a small smile.

 

“Oh God,” Remus says. “No, I wasn’t being creepy or anything, I promise. It’s just...I came out of your room and noticed you left this on the coffee table.” He holds up the book on his lap. It’s _A Life Worth Living_. Sirius is incredibly unsurprised.

 

“Ah,” he says. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

 

“I could not,” Remus agrees earnestly.

 

Sirius adjusts himself on the couch so he can see Remus easier. “Are you rereading it for the millionth time, then?”

 

“Nah,” Remus says with a tiny laugh. “Just looking over a passage I was thinking about yesterday.”

 

“Which passage is that?” Sirius asks, even though he knows there’s a good chance he won’t know what Remus is referencing--he’s a slow reader, only partially through this reread, and it’s been years since he read it the first time.

 

“Oh,” Remus says, shifting in the recliner and drawing his brow together. “Uh, it’s that part near the end, after Margo’s diagnosis, where she and Donald are talking about her fate, and he's like, ‘I probably should have never saved you in the first place.’ You remember that bit?”

 

“Mm, kind of,” Sirius says, and he does, sort of like a foggy memory, but he wouldn’t be able to recite any details. “Are you at that passage now? Read me some of it.”

 

Remus smiles a little. “Yeah okay,” he mutters, flipping between the pages, looking for a good place to start. He clears his throat. Sirius thinks it’s cute. Remus beings to read.

 

_“‘Tell me what you’re feeling,’ Margo said, holding Donald’s hand in her own. Donald shook his head._

_‘What I’m thinking isn’t right to say,’ he whispered, looking to his wife with an expression of greed--as though the longer he looked at her face, the more of her he could absorb; could memorize; could hoard to make her last._

_‘Say it anyway,’ Margo said, making Donald hang his head. After all, he could never deny her anything._

_‘I’m thinking that I should have never saved you,’ Donald said in an icy, hushed voice, as though what he was saying was a declaration of great crime. ‘I’m thinking that our life together would have been more meaningful if I had accepted the time the Universe had granted us, instead of trying to manipulate it. I feel foolish, like I’ve been placing bets against someone who can never lose. I’m thinking I’ve learned too late that we have no impact on eternity--it’s like throwing a rock at a cliff and expecting it to make a difference.’_

_Margo, gripping Donald’s hand even tighter, merely smiled. ‘This is a precarious life, my darling,” she said in a tone laced with immense love. ‘How were you to know?’”_

 

Neither of them says anything for moment. “I remember that now,” Sirius says finally. “Not exactly a cheerful passage, though.”

 

“It’s not exactly a cheerful book,” Remus points out, not meeting Sirius’ eye.

 

“That’s true. What made you think about that passage specifically, though?”

 

Remus shrugs. “Dunno,” he very obviously lies.

 

“Remus,” Sirius says softly. “What did you and your parents row about?”

 

Remus stares off into space right behind Sirius, and tugs on his lower lip between his index finger and thumb. “Really it was more of a row between my mum and dad that I just happened to overhear.” He runs a hand through his messy mop of curls. “Mostly it was just about my mum’s recreational opiate use, nothing new really. It’s just… I dunno, my dad let it slip that he thinks he and my mum would be better off if they had just let me die when my heart stopped the first time.” He shrugs in a way Sirius suspects is supposed to look nonchalant, but he is tense. Sirius notices for the first time just how exhausted Remus looks. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Happy Christmas,” he decides on finally. Remus just bursts out laughing.

 

“Would you believe me if I told you I forgot entirely that it’s Christmas morning?” he asks.

 

“After yesterday? Yeah, I’d believe that,” Sirius says sympathetically.

 

Remus shakes his head. “Happy Christmas,” he returns, finally meeting Sirius’ eye. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid, showing up on your front stoop like a teenager running away from home. I really don’t know why this is bothering me so much.”

 

“What?” Sirius scoffs. “I’m pretty sure this would bother anyone. You don’t have to apologize.”

 

“It’s not like he flatout said that he wanted me to be dead or something like that. He just… implied it tactlessly. I should expect that sort of behaviour from him, really. I’m just being dramatic.” He has his fingers laced together and keeps flexing his hands.

 

“Stop,” Sirius says. “First of all, you’re not being dramatic, you’re being plenty reasonable. Second of all, even if you were being dramatic, you’re perfectly entitled. You’re allowed to feel however you need to.”

 

“I guess,” Remus says in a small voice, pulling at a loose thread in his jumper.

 

“You should go back to sleep,” Sirius decides. “You look dead on your feet.”

 

“I’m sitting,” Remus points out with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

 

“It’s an expression,” Sirius says with a pointed look, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to Remus.

 

“Where are we going?” Remus asks, taking Sirius’ hand and letting him tug him into a standing position.

 

“Back to bed.”

 

“I told you, I felt weird in there. You look tired too. You should go to your room and just let me sleep on the couch.”

 

“No, you need actual bed rest. This couch is comfy to play video games on, but it’s not great for sleeping. Come here.”

 

Remus, begrudgingly, lets Sirius take him back into his bedroom. Sirius laughs.

 

“You made my bed,” he muses.

 

“Yeah, you should know I’m never tidy at home. I just felt weird leaving it a mess.”

 

“You worry too much,” Sirius says, turning down the bedsheets. Remus hesitates over it. “Lay down,” Sirius says kindly. “It won’t hurt you, I promise.”

 

“Yeah, alright,” Remus mutters, getting back into Sirius’ bed. He gives Sirius an unamused look when he pulls the comforter over Remus and tucks him in. “I can do that myself, you know,” he says.

 

“I know,” Sirius says. He walks over to the other side of the bed, aware of Remus’ eyes on him, and sits next to him. He glances at Remus, who is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. “Is this okay?” Sirius asks.

 

“What, are you going to sit next to me while I sleep?” Remus asks skeptically.

 

“You said it was weird in here by yourself.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you just sitting stiffly next to me is worse.”

 

“Okay,” Sirius says, moving so that he’s lying down. He turns on his side and looks at Remus. “How’s this?”

 

“Uhm,” Remus says, a little pink in the cheeks. “Better, maybe? Maybe worse. I can’t tell.”

 

Sirius pauses, lifts his arm, and rests it on Remus’ hip. “And this?” he asks.

 

“Christ,” Remus mutters. “Confusing?” he offers. “Ambiguously dangerous, possibly?”

 

“You worry too much,” Sirius says again, quietly. “What if we didn’t have to think about what this means, and instead it was just someone who cares about you wanting you to be comfortable enough to get some sleep? How would this be, then?”

 

“Then?” Remus whispers, chewing on his upper lip. “Then it might be okay.”

 

“Okay,” Sirius says.

 

“Okay,” Remus says.

 

“Close your eyes,” Sirius whispers. “It’s just sleep. That’s all.”

 

“I do like sleep,” Remus says, doing as he is told and shutting his eyes.

 

It takes a few minutes for Remus to stop looking a string being pulled too tight. Eventually, his body begins to loosen. Not soon after, his breathing gets a little deeper, and Sirius can tell he has drifted back to sleep.

 

Sirius shoots a little closer, his forehead almost touching Remus’, and he too closes his eyes. Before he knows it, above the covers, one hand over Remus’ side, he doses as well.

 

\---

 

Remus wakes up sputtering, breathing in a big chunk of thick, black hair. He squints his eyes at the daylight filtering in through the bedroom window, and realizes his hand is clutched tightly around Sirius’ t-shirt. Sirius’ hair, which he now tries to pick from his tongue without waking his bedmate, is splayed over the pillow, and is mostly covering Sirius’ face. Remus has to bite back a laugh.

 

He becomes intensely aware that his teeth are filmy, and his mouth tastes gummy, and becomes self-conscious about his definite morning breath. He is also stiff, becoming more and more uncomfortable the more awake he becomes. Over Sirius’ shoulder, on a bedside table, he sees a clock. It’s about a quarter to eleven. He is surprised. He expected his nap with Sirius to only last an hour at most--not five.

 

He is embarrassed at how much he doesn’t want to leave Sirius’ side, but discomfort outweighs his desire to stay in bed. He untangles himself from the covers, and Sirius’ clothes, and gently climbs out of the bed. Sirius lets out a large exhale, and flops over onto his back like a puppy. Remus can’t help his laugh this time, as a small chuckle escapes him.

 

There is a bathroom in Sirius’ room. (Of course there is, he thinks, thinking of his one shared bathroom back at home.) He puts some toothpaste on his finger and cleans his teeth the best he can. He takes a swig of Sirius’ mouthwash, hoping he won’t mind. He throws some water on his face, tries and fails to make his hair look somewhat presentable, and relieves himself.

 

When he comes back out, Sirius is still sleeping. He sits down on the other side of the bed, unconsciously smiling down at the ridiculous lump of person next to him. Sirius’ hair is still wild, his head lolled back, and his limbs at odd angles now that they don’t have Remus to hold onto. Remus very gently nudges him in the ribs.

 

Sirius stirs. He opens one eye, sees Remus beside him, opens his other eye, and immediately breaks out into a huge, groggy grin. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and scratchy with sleep. “Time is it?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and stretching so his shirt rides up above his bellybutton, and Remus can see a small happy trail of hair leading towards the elastic of his pants. Now, that’s just obscene, Remus thinks, pointedly not looking.

 

“About eleven,” he says.

 

“Really?” Sirius says, glancing at the clock to see for himself. “Damn.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened.”

 

“Maybe it was your super cute nap partner,” Sirius says, sitting up. Remus feels himself go red instantaneously, and he tries and fails to make a smart remark. Sirius just laughs. “Chill,” he says, reaching over and ruffling Remus’ hair. He practically flings himself over the side of his bed, saying, “Hold up a sec, I gotta pee.”

 

Remus waits, fiddling with the bed sheet. He fights the urge to make the bed--not because he’s and neat and tidy person (he is not), but because he has a desperate need to do something with his hands. It’s so silly, really, how nonchalant Sirius can be when Remus feels like his insides might be imploding in on themselves with anxiety. He just _slept with Sirius_. _Literally_. Somehow, it feels even more intimate than if they had had sex, but Sirius doesn’t seem remotely phased. He wonders, with a slightly bitter taste in the back of his throat, if maybe Sirius isn’t phased because it’s something he does often.

 

Sirius emerges from the bathroom, somehow looking like his usual, beautiful self. His hair, which just minutes ago was splayed all over the top of the bed, is now immaculate. Remus tries to discreetly comb out a few of the tangles in his curls with his fingers.

  
Sirius plops himself down onto the bed, and looks at Remus with a friendly smile. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

 

“Better,” Remus says honestly. “Sleeping helped.”

 

“Yeah, they it does that,” Sirius says. “I personally don’t see the appeal.”

 

“Oh please,” Remus laughs. “You slept longer than I did.”

 

“Probably because of my super cute nap partner,” Sirius says, not missing a beat, and then laughs when Remus goes scarlet again.

 

“You’re terrible,” Remus mutters. Sirius just shrugs.

 

“James and Peter are probably gonna be up soon, if they’re not already,” he says, looking at the clock again. “Do you feel up to going out and doing Christmasy things with us? Like I said, it’s really low-key. Gift exchange, video games probably, and then takeaway and eggnog until we pass out.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” says Remus.

 

“You sure? Because, I mean, if you want to just chill in here for a while I’ll understand. We could, I dunno, read passages from our book back and forth or something if you’re not up to socializing with people.”

 

 _Christ_ , thinks Remus. “As tempting as that sounds,” he says aloud. “I really am fine. Kind of interested in seeing how you do Christmas, honestly. I’ve never had a Christmas that wasn’t tense and full of social convention.”

 

“Yeah, our holidays are pretty much the exact opposite of that,” Sirius agrees. “Okay, well, shall we then?”

 

Remus nods, and lets Sirius lead them out of the room and into the sitting room where James is leafing through a newspaper on the couch, with Peter on the floor next to him, playing some video game Remus has never seen before.

 

“Happy Christmas!” Sirius yells, hitting James in the head with a pillow.

 

“Same to you, arsehole,” James says, throwing the pillow back at Sirius, missing and hitting a lamp and nearly knocking it over. Neither of them seem concerned about it. “‘Lo Remus,” James adds. Remus is grateful James says nothing about him and Sirius emerging from a closed door bedroom together, but he doesn’t miss the significant look he casts Sirius. Sirius’ return look, his back to Remus, goes unseen.

 

“Morning,” Remus says. “And Happy Christmas.”

 

“You sleep okay?” Peter asks, not looking up from the television.

 

“Uh, yeah, not terribly,” Remus says, hoping he doesn’t sound as embarrassed as he is. In his state the night before, he didn’t stop to consider what the morning would be like.

 

“Can we do presents now? Can we?” Sirius asks, hopping up on the arm of the couch. Remus feels himself feeling endeared towards Sirius’ energetic, child-like demeanour once again, and tries to maneuver his face into something that looks a bit less fond.

 

“You say that like we weren’t waiting on you,” James says, but puts his newspaper down anyway. Peter pauses his game. Sirius gestures for Remus to follow. They go over to the corner of the sitting room, which is the only area of the entire flat decorated for the holiday, although, Remus thinks, ‘decorated’ might be exaggerating a bit. At least not in any traditional sense.

 

In lieu of a Christmas tree, they have a large, inflatable palm tree with a paper angel, which looks like it was drawn and cut out of notebook paper, glued to the top of it, and two sparkly, red Christmas ornaments taped on either side of the large, inflated leaves.

 

For a Nativity scene, they have a shoebox, which is complete with Captain America and Wonder Woman action figures with “Joesph" and “Mary” written on the shoebox with arrows pointing to the respective figures. They are dressed in robes made out of felt. Baby Jesus is represented with an Obi-Wan Kenobi figurine, and for farm animals, they have a small plastic giraffe, and a velociraptor. The entire thing is coated in glitter.

 

“You’re, uh, gonna have to explain this one to me,” Remus says, looking at the box.

 

“Peter collects superhero figurines,” Sirius explains, “And James is a big Star Wars nerd.”

 

“Yeah, he’s the one who convinced us Obi-Wan embodied more Jesus traits than Captain America, so that’s why the Cap got the Joseph role,” Peter adds.

 

“And the animals?” Remus asks.

 

“Found the giraffe in a bin somewhere like, five years ago,” James says. “That was when we made this. It was a project for school.”

 

“This was a school project?” Remus asks skeptically.

 

“Yeah, it was for this art class we all took as an elective. It was during the 3D art unit. The project was to ‘imitate a famous scene, fictional or historical, in your own perspective,’” Sirius says.

 

“And you failed, right?” Remus asks.

 

“Nah, we got a B,” Peter says. “She said she wanted more from us in our artists’ statement, but that we were obviously creative students with, I don’t remember, what was it?”

 

“‘Unique Vision,’” James says. He shrugs at Remus. “The class was kind of rubbish.”

 

“...Right. Uh, what about the velociraptor? You didn’t explain that one.”

 

“Dinosaurs are fucking cool, Remus,” Sirius says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The other two boys nod in agreement.

 

“My mistake,” says Remus. “So you made this for a school project, got a B, and probably eternal damnation, and now you use it as a Christmas decoration?”

 

“Every year,” James says proudly, sitting down on the floor. The others follow suit.

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, of course, but aren’t you rich?” he asks Sirius. “Can’t you buy like, proper Christmas things?”

 

Sirius, James, and Peter all scoff.

 

“‘Proper Christmas things,’ he says,” Sirius says to his friends, incredulous.

 

“How dare he?” says Peter.

 

“Where did you pick this boy up from again, Sirius?” James asks.

 

“Now, now,” Sirius says. “Let’s go easy on him. This is his first Marauder Christmas, after all. We can forgive his minor hiccups.”

 

“Can we?” James asks with faux skepticism.

 

“We can,” Sirius assures him. “In the name of the holiday spirit.”

 

James makes a show of looking uncertain, and then relents. “Fair enough, but that’s definitely a strike.”

 

Remus is unsure of whether he should be concerned, or if he should laugh. At the very least, he thinks, this is definitely different than Christmas at home.

 

"Marauder Christmas?" he asks.

 

"Marauders. It's what we called ourselves when we were in school, and if you wish to celebrate this wondrous holiday with us, you must follow the rules. The first being: We don’t insult the holiday display,” Sirius explains.

 

“Understood,” Remus says solemnly. He sees the corner of Sirius’ mouth flicker up. “So, instead of being alarmed that your stockings are actually just very large, old-looking gym socks with your names written on them…” he says, glancing at the socks splayed out next to the handful of gifts under the inflatable palm tree, stuffed to the brim with what Remus assumes are an assortment of sweets.

 

“You should instead be awed by our wit and creativity, obviously,” Sirius explains.

 

“Very well,” Remus says. “This Christmas display is very witty and creative, did you know?”

 

“We did know,” James says from beside him. “But thank you for saying so.”

 

That tears it for Remus. He bursts out laughing--harder than he can remember doing in ages. He is vaguely aware of the other boys cracking up around him, but he’s too immersed in the hilarity of it all. He laughs until he gets a cramp in his side, and his poor little heart is beating a little fast, but he can’t even be bothered to care. It feels freeing, this laughter, and he’s suddenly so grateful to every moment that has converged to make this moment possible. As he calms down, he sends a silent thanks to his bookshop, and Eugene Washburn, and even to his sick little body, and tactless parents. He takes some deep breaths, sees Sirius smiling wider than ever at him, and sends the biggest thanks to him.

 

‘If it happens, then it’s supposed to,’ he thinks, as he often does nowadays, and sends a thanks to the universe for making Sirius Black something that is supposed to happen to him.

 

\---

 

It is the best Christmas Remus has ever had, (although it’s true the bar wasn’t that high to begin with).

 

After gift exchange, (in which James got a copy of _Football’s Greatest_ (Sirius admitted Remus gave him the idea), and a new pair of running shoes, Peter got a few new DVDs and some vintage comic books, and Sirius got some fancy hair product James says he got for him when he went on a trip with his parents to Sweden, and an ACDC album on vinyl ( _Back in Black_ , of course)), Peter insisted on teaching Remus how to play Mario Kart, while Sirius fixed them all lunch. (“He’s the only one of us who can cook,” James explained.)

 

After Remus beat Peter on the Rainbow Roads track, and Peter started to get a little red in the face, it was unanimously decided they do something else. They all sat around and watched The Matrix because Remus mentioned he hadn’t seen it, and the other three boys, in classic melodrama, forced him on the couch and shushed him every time he made a snarky comment about Keanu Reeves. (He did end up enjoying it a little, begrudgingly.)

 

As promised, the evening was full of takeaway and mostly-rum-eggnog.

 

(“We don’t mind not drinking, if it bothers you,” James told Remus when he realized he couldn’t drink with the rest of him.

 

“I gotta live vicariously through someone,” Remus said. “I’m fine, just so long as no one throws up on me.”)

 

The rest of the night was essentially the boys trying to out-embarrass each other by telling childhood stories, whilst getting progressively more and more intoxicated. (Remus’ personal favourite was the story about how James and Sirius once had to pose as Peter’s polyamorous boyfriends to get him out of a bad date, except the date wouldn’t believe them until they all made out with each other. It wasn’t until after Peter got done drunkenly telling the story did he realize it was embarrassing for all of them, including himself.)

 

Now, the four of them are in the sitting room. Peter passed out a half an hour ago, hanging halfway off a recliner, and James, taking up the length of the couch, followed suit not long after. Sirius and Remus are lying side by side on the floor, staring at the ceiling, exhausted, but content.

 

“I hope you had an okay Christmas,” Sirius says, closing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

 

“I had an excellent Christmas,” Remus says honestly. “My parents are probably going mad, though,” he realizes suddenly. “I never told them where I was going, and my phone has been dead all day.”

 

“You can borrow my charger if you want,” Sirius says a little distantly, not opening his eyes. “It’s in my room by the bed.”

 

Remus forces himself up and goes to Sirius’ room to retrieve his phone and Sirius’ charger. He plugs it into the outlet on the floor, and lays back down, waiting for his phone to turn back on.

 

“Shit,” he says as his phone retrieves all the messages he’s missed over the course of the day.

 

“Hm?” Sirius says, glancing over at him lazily.

 

“I’ve got about six hundred missed calls, and twice as many texts,” Remus says, grimacing. He skims through the texts. Most of them are from Lily. The first half are her asking about his Christmas, and if he’s doing okay. The second half are practically hysterical, starting with “Your parents called me and said they can’t get ahold of you. Are you okay??” and ending with, “Damnit, Remus. CALL. ME.”

 

A few of the texts are repetitive apologies from his mother, which are hard for him to read, because he knows his mother has probably spent the whole day a nervous wreck, wondering if Remus has taken his meds, or if he’s lying somewhere on the street in cardiac arrest.

 

“I’ve upset some people,” Remus says, feeling guilty.

 

“To be fair,” Sirius says, getting a little more coherent as he notices Remus’ worried expression. “Some people upset you. You’re probably entitled upsetting some people back.”

 

“Yeah, but they probably all think I’m quite literally dead somewhere,” Remus says, typing a quick, ‘I’m alive’ text to Lily.

 

“You’re not, though,” Sirius says, shifting onto his side to look at Remus. “You’re alive, and having a nice holiday, and that’s not a crime.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Remus says. “I don’t want my parents to worry, but I really don’t want to go home either. I guess I could go to Lily’s, they’d be okay with me being there…”

 

“No,” Sirius says. “Stay here.”

 

Remus, who is already replying to Lily’s instant “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??” message, glances at Sirius. “We’ve talked about that,” he says.

 

“No we haven’t, not really,” Sirius says. “We’ve basically said we’re going to talk about it later maybe. Besides, I’m not saying you have to stay forever. But like, your parents were pretty shitty, it makes sense not to want to go home right away. And Lily’s place isn’t really a solution, you’ve already said that. Just...I dunno. Stay.”

 

Remus can’t meet Sirius’ eye. The truth is that nothing sounds better than staying right where he is. He has never felt more welcome in a place than he does here. But his feelings are all over the place, the memory of his little not-quite-platonic nap with Sirius this morning still fresh in his mind, and he isn’t sure what to do.

 

“You’re worrying too much again, I can tell,” Sirius says, reading Remus’ mind. “Try not to think of it like a long-term thing, if that helps. Take it day by day. Tell your parents you’ve got a safe place to stay, and you’ll be here until you sort out what you want to do.”

 

A million conflicts enter Remus’ head immediately. “I’ll need more clothes. I don’t have the rest of my meds with me.”

 

“We can get those things,” Sirius says patiently.

 

“You don’t have a room set up for me. I can’t sleep in your bed.”

 

“Well, I mean, know that it’s you saying that, not me, but regardless, we have a big air mattress James bought for Peter, because the only way he would agree to go camping with him was if James made it as much like not being outside as possible.”

 

“My parents will be pissed.”

 

“Let them be.”

 

Remus falters. He’s running out of excuses, and, to be honest, isn’t entirely sure why he’s trying to find more. “This isn’t how I usually do things in my life,” he finally says, sighing.

 

“Not everything can be planned and thought out one hundred percent, Remus, I’m sorry. I mean, after all,” he leans in so that he’s practically whispering in Remus’ ear. “‘This is a precarious life.’”

 

Remus laughs in spite of himself. “What did I tell you about using my book against me?” he jokes, but he still tries to take it to heart. What does he really have to lose? Honestly?

 

Sirius nudges him in the side and makes horrendously effective puppy dog eyes. “Stay,” he says. “I didn’t get you a Christmas present. Let this count as one until I can get you something proper.”

 

“You don’t need to get me a present,” Remus mutters, mostly out of instinct. He sighs again. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll stay. For now.” He says 'for now' as a comfort to himself more than anything. He casts a “Tell my parents I’m with you, I’m gonna be at Sirius’” text to Lily, and then sits his phone aside with a heavy exhale. 

 

Sirius grins, grabs Remus’ wrist and kisses him on the knuckles a little sloppily.

 

Blushing, Remus realizes the biggest issue with living with Sirius, even temporarily, isn’t the house, or his friends, or even how his parents will react--it’s Sirius himself.

 

Very carefully he pulls his hand away, offering an apologetic look. “This can’t happen right now,” he finds himself saying. “That’s too many things at once. I know it’s probably just me worrying too much, but...I need the time to process.”

 

Sirius has the decency not to look disappointed. In fact, he just smiles a little, and says, “I care about you, and I want you to be comfortable. If that means you need time, then time ye shall receive.” He goes to stand, a little unsteady on his feet, as the rum hasn't entirely worn off. “I’m gonna go and find where we put that air mattress. You can have my bed if, you want, I don’t mind sleeping on the air one.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Remus says. “Really,” he adds at Sirius’ skeptical look.

 

“Okay.” He turns to leave, but stops. He looks like he’s debating something in his head, and finally looks back to Remus and says, “I really will respect any boundary you set, okay? No questions asked, no judgments made. Just...just try to make sure you’re setting them for your own limits and comfort, and not because you’re trying to, I dunno, manipulate things that are out of our control just so you don't feel vulnerable.”

 

Remus blinks. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean…” Sirius sort of gestures mindlessly as he searches for words. Eventually he just smiles and says, quite simply, “I mean, don’t throw rocks at cliffs and expect it to make a difference.”

  
He leaves without further explanation, and Remus feels heavy on the carpet, drowning in Sirius’ words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite literally been writing this chapter all day, so please let me know if there are glaring errors, bc there very well might be. 
> 
> If you wanna see what the Marauder's Christmas tree looks like, just type in "inflatable palm tree" on Amazon. It's the one with the weird little white kid. 
> 
> Yada yada, self-promotion: severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank u, thank u, to all of you who read and comment and even to those of you who read and don't comment. I love you all.
> 
> K byee


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which new year's happens, and also, quite possibly, some nsfw things do as well :o

“You have to tell them you’re not actually staying with me eventually, you know,” Lily is saying, to which Remus is trying not to hear.

It has been five days since Christmas, and he hasn’t seen or spoken to his father at all, and only ended up speaking to his mother because she was there when he came to pick up some of his things. Even then, the conversation was brief and stilted, and he insisted he just needed space, and he’d be with Lily who would let them know if anything was wrong. His mother, stuffed full of her friend’s prescription Vicodin, and almost a full bottle of cheap wine, could offer no solid argument, and relented.

Meanwhile, Remus has begun to feel comfortable at Sirius’ place. The first day after Christmas, Remus thought himself an awkward houseguest, tip-toeing about the place as though some misstep would make him overstay his welcome, until James couldn’t take it anymore, and told Remus that if he didn’t keep acting like he was living in the Queen’s washroom, he would be forced to personally remove the stick up Remus’ arse himself.

After that, Remus managed to relax a little, and was even beginning to enjoy himself. He never had very close friends as a boy, and even when he did, they were mainly girls. Between that, and the fact that his mother worried incessantly about him, Remus never had sleepovers. Introverted though he was, he would sit in class on Monday mornings, and listen to other kids talk about their fun weekends together, and always felt a pang of envy.

But living with Sirius and his friends--or “The Marauders” Remus soon realized they often still called themselves--was like having a constant sleepover. Perhaps it was the video games, the abundance of crisps and cheese sandwiches, and the fact that the three men were more like perpetual children, but Remus felt he was finally experiencing something he had for so long missed out on.

And what was more, was that Remus didn’t feel like an outsider. Sirius, James, and Peter had very clearly accepted him into their clan, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t think of his heart, or his parents, or his poverty--he just thought about how nice it felt to belong.

“Remus, are you listening to me?” Lily, ever vigilant, nudges Remus hard in his side.

“Ow,” Remus says, rubbing his rib. “Yes, I was listening.”

“You have to tell them.”

“Mm.”

“Look, I know you’re pissed at them, but you can’t use me as your scapegoat forever. You’re gonna have to tell them about this; about Sirius.”

“There’s nothing to tell them about Sirius,” Remus says, which he supposes it technically true. True to his word, Sirius hasn’t crossed any of Remus’ set boundaries. So what did it matter, really, for his parents to know that every time he and Sirius were in the same room together, a tension hung in the air like a dense fog. Did his parents really need to know that every time Remus lay in the spare bedroom on his air mattress, he was intensely aware of Sirius listening to soft music in the next room over? Was it necessary, honestly, to bring up the Towel Incident, when two days prior Remus had stumbled into Sirius in the hallway, where he encountered him wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely about his waist, and how he hadn’t really been able to stop seeing that image since then?

Decidedly not, Remus thinks.

“Yeah, nothing at all,” Lily mutters, but it’s loud enough for Remus to hear.

“Something to say?” Remus asks, annoyed.

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Lily says, turning her attention back to the television show the two of them are watching from The Marauder’s sitting room couch.

They sit in a stiff silence for several minutes. Remus understands where Lily is coming from, but she has a tendency to be stubborn when it comes to issues she feels strongly about--especially where her loved ones’ well-being is concerned--and Remus, wanting just to enjoy himself for once, resents her hard-headedness.

In the back of his mind, he knows she’s right. He knows he can only deceive his parents for so long--can only dance around his obvious affection for Sirius for so long--but Remus, who lives his life like it exists within an unbendable box of rules, feels entitled to a little misbehaviour.

Remus turns to Lily to voice this sentiment, but before he gets the words out, the front door opens and James and Sirius come inside. James, noticing Lily on his couch, adopts a facial expression and demeanour that Remus would liken to a deer startling at a sudden sound. He bites back the sudden urge to laugh.

“Hey Lily,” James says, shrugging his jacket off. “Have a good holiday?”

Lily regards James with a mix of disgruntled confusion, and scowls just slightly at the snow James is tracking with the boots he hasn’t bothered to take off. “It was fine,” she says in a curt, but polite voice. “And yours?”

James shrugs. “Not bad, you know, good to have Remus join us.” He gives Remus a wink. “So, uh, you gonna come to our New Year’s Eve house party tomorrow?” James asks, leaning up against the couch and crossing up his arms in what Remus assumes is supposed to be some show of nonchalance.

“Er,” Lily says, looking to Remus. “I wasn’t aware you were having one.”

“Don’t ask me,” Remus says. “I didn’t know they were either.”

“Didn’t you?” Sirius pipes up. He’s grabbing a rag hanging by the door and is wiping up the small puddle trail James left in his wake. “I thought I told you about it.” When Remus shakes his head, Sirius says, “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, it’s just something we do every year. Or, at least since we’ve lived together I mean.”

“Though, to be fair, you, me, and Peter would do our own New Year’s party even before we lived together,” James says.

“True. These parties are a bit bigger than that, though. We invite all our old school friends,” Sirius explains. “We all get together and relive gross nostalgia and get really drunk and make promises for self-improvement that none of us intend to keep. You know, New Year’s Eve stuff.”

“Would we be sort of out of place then?” Remus asks. “Since it’s all your old friends?”

“‘Course not,” James says, as Sirius shakes his head vehemently.

“Nah, people bring plus ones, people we’ve never met. It’s not an exclusive thing by any means. And not everyone drinks, if you’re worried about that. And you should definitely come, Lily, we’d all love for you to be there, plus I think you’d get on really well with our friends Alice and Marlene. You wouldn’t have to hang around us all night.” Sirius give an exaggerated gesture at James, who scowls.

“Please come,” Remus says to her. “I need someone beautiful and exuberant to overshadow me so no one realizes I have no idea how to party.”

“I thought that’s what we were keeping Sirius around for,” Lily says, making Sirius laugh. “But alright. Petunia has plans with that Vernon guy she’s been seeing--blech--and my parents are claiming that New Year’s is a ‘kid’s holiday’ so that they have an excuse not to stay up until midnight, so I’m free.”

“Excellent,” Sirius says, flopping down on one of the recliners. Remus has a fleeting moment where he wishes Sirius had sat down next to him, but then reminds himself that he’s not supposed to have thoughts like that.

“Should I bring anything?” Lily asks.

“Booze,” Sirius and James say together.

Remus raises an eyebrow at Sirius, and Sirius laughs. “I promise not everyone will be drinking,” he reiterates. “But we have to make sure there’s plenty for the ones that do.”

\---

In terms of a protective wingman, Lily is the worst, Remus thinks, sitting as far into the corner of the room as he can, while people dance and drink and talk loudly all around him.

Lily has ditched him for some terrifying woman who introduced herself as Marlene.

It was instantly obvious why Sirius would be friends with this woman. She looks positively intimidating in tight jeans, and a tight, long-sleeved t-shirt of some metal band Remus has never heard of. He can see the definition of her upper arm and shoulder muscles through the fabric. She’s got long, blonde hair that’s loose at her sides, and her lips are red, red, red. Her boots have spikes on them. _Spikes_. And Remus thought she might break off his fingers when she shook his hand.

Marlene took one look at Lily, and immediately began gushing about her dress. (To be fair, Lily did look stunning in a black sweater dress that hugged her very nicely at the bust and hips--something James definitely noticed.) From then on, the two began gabbing, leaving Remus in the dust behind them. He watches them bitterly from his corner, nursing a ginger ale, and feeling sort of shy.

Sirius is busy hosting--something he does quite well, Remus notes. Peter went out to buy some more ice, and Remus _was_ talking to James, but all James could talk about was the way Lily did his hair, and “do you think she likes the shirt I’m wearing?” so he politely excused himself from that conversation.

Which means he has now officially ran out of people he knows.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” a woman with a dark brown pixie cut asks, sliding onto the floor next to him. Remus recognizes her as Alice. Sirius pointed her and her husband out to him when they came in. According to Sirius, Alice and her husband Frank were two years older than The Marauders, and were high school sweethearts, with really promising futures.

Frank had graduated a year early, and got a great government job in the National Security department. Alice was right behind him, until she fell pregnant about a year ago. Frank’s mother Augusta, was really displeased, and insisted the two get married, and that Alice quit school to become a full-time mom.

Sirius said it didn’t stop her, though, said she married Frank, since she loved him and was planning on it anyway, but decided to finish school, and graduated about a month or so before her due date. She gave birth in late July of this year, and Sirius said she has a job lined up in Frank’s department come spring.

Remus can tell Alice is a new mom. She’s got a petite frame, but still carries a lot of weight in her lower belly and her hips, and her button up blouse is tight across her chest. She looks happy, but tired, with dark circles not completely hidden away with makeup. She smiles kindly at Remus, who can’t help but to smile back.

“I’m not very good at parties,” Remus says. “Don’t go them to very often. Or, well, ever, really.”

“That’s fair,” Alice says. “I just had a baby in July. This is the first time I’ve gone to a real party in ages.”

“You’re Alice, yeah?” Alice nods. “Yeah, Sirius mentioned you had a baby. Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” says Alice. “Named Neville. He’s with his grandmother tonight.” She reaches in her pocket and pulls out her phone. She hands it over to Remus to show him a picture of a fat baby with a light mop of blonde hair.

“Oh he’s cute. Nice name, too,” Remus says, handing the phone back to her. Alice laughs.

“I used to absolutely hate it when people would show me pictures of their kids,” she says. “Like, they’re not my kids, why should I care? But now I have him, and I totally get it. It’s like a compulsion.”

“Well, I don’t mind it,” Remus says sincerely. He likes it when people share pieces of themselves with him.

“You’re probably just saying that, but I don’t even care, I’ll probably show you more pictures of him later, you just wait,” says Alice, slipping her phone back into her pocket and crossing her legs. “You’re Remus, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, startled. “How’d you know that?”

Alice laughs again. “Because Sirius freaking Black won’t stop talking about you,” she says.

“...Oh,” Remus says. He doesn’t think the skip in his heart is from his sickness.

“Nothing bad, of course, not even anything particularly saucy. Just, ‘oh wait until you meet Remus!’ and ‘don’t worry Alice, Remus won’t be drinking at the party either!’ or, ‘Remus will probably be the one in the cute and super ugly sweater, be sure to make him feel comfortable!’”

“Oh God,” Remus says pinching his nose. He can’t even hope that Alice is mistaken--that all sounds a lot like something Sirius would say.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone at this party knew about you beforehand. Congrats, Sirius Black is totally smitten with you.”

“That would explain why Marlene gave me the up and down when she introduced herself. Honestly, I just thought she was scoping me out as prey.”

“Who, McKinnon? She wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Alice seems to consider this. “Well, no, that’s an utter lie, but she wouldn’t hurt you. She’s just protective over her friends, that’s all. Probably just wanted to make sure you weren’t some jerk using Sirius for sex or something. Sirius isn’t known to have the best relationships.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, a funny feeling settling in the bottom of his stomach. “Does he, uh, does he have a lot of relationships?”

“Not _serious_ ones, heh,” Alice says with a chuckle. “But I mean, a fair amount here and there. A lot of them, from what I gather from Marlene, are just physical relationships with not a lot of emotional components.”

“Oh,” Remus says, fully aware he sounds like a broken record.

“Oh god, you look terrified about that,” Alice says, looking at Remus’ puzzled face. “Don’t worry, don't let me scare you away, he’s not a player or something. He’s a big teddy bear who just happens to like sex, that’s all. And if it helps, I’ve never, ever heard him talk about a guy the way he talks about you.”

That, Remus neglects to say, doesn’t help at all.

“We’re not,” Remus searches for the best phrasing. “We’re not dating, exactly. Not at all, really.”

Alice sort of furrows her brow. “You’re not?” she asks. “I guess I just sort of assumed, what with you staying here, and him talking about you all the time. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Remus says.

“So is it just kind of a non-exclusive, friends with benefits sort of thing, or…?”

“Um,” Remus says, mouth dry. He feels this conversation is taking an unpleasant turn. “No. We haven’t...er... we haven’t.”

“ _Really_?” Alice asks. She seems even more surprised at this. “Not at all?”

“No,” Remus says.

“Huh. That’s crazy. Marlene was telling me Sirius hasn’t said anything about being with anyone lately--I guess we both just assumed it was because of you. But you guys aren’t even, like, into each other? Or what?”

“Well, no,” Remus says, avoiding Alice’s eye and getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. “It’s not that. It’s not that we don’t fancy each other. It’s just...I dunno, there’s a lot going on. I have a lot going on. So I told him I couldn’t start a relationship right now. That’s all.”

“Holy shit,” Alice says.

“What?” Remus asks, not thinking what he said was that monumental.

“He’s waiting for you,” Alice says with a wicked grin slowly building across her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Remus asks, although he’s fairly certain he knows what she means.

“He’s _waiting_ for you. He’s not sleeping with other guys, because he’s waiting for you to be ready to be in a relationship with him. Holy. Shit. This is unheard of. Sirius Black existing on someone else’s terms? Jesus Christ, what did you do to make him fall so hard for you, Remus?”

Remus stares very intently into his glass, pulse beating so hard he can feel it in his esophagus.

“I made him buy a book,” he says.

\---

After a while, Alice gets up to go dance with Frank on the makeshift dance floor the guys made by pushing all of the dining room furniture in a clump against the wall. Lily and Marlene are still deep in conversation, joined now by a young woman Remus thinks is named Mary. Remus sits alone and does what he does best: overthink.

Sirius is over by a group of people Remus hasn’t been introduced to yet. He’s filling drinks and laughing. Remus likes it when Sirius laughs--he throws his whole body into it, like it’s a real physical affair. He’s pulled his hair up into a bun by sticking a pen through it to keep the back of his neck cool, and somehow it still looks gorgeous. Remus finds that he would really like to run his fingers through it. He finds he would like to run his fingers over a lot of Sirius. He finds that these thoughts unnerve him.

Remus is not entirely inexperienced.

Remus has, at the very least, kissed many people.

Remus has also had penetrative sex two and a half times with two different women.

The first woman he ever tried to sleep with was a girl who used to flirt with him in their chemistry class. She came over one day for what Remus thought was going to be a study session, but what she turned into a makeout session. Remus was neither into it nor not into it, so he just went with the flow. After a lot of the over-the-clothes petting, and badly aimed dry humping, they got undressed. Remus fumbled a lot with the condom, and when it came down to the Big Moment, only could get halfway in. She faked it. So did Remus. They called it a day, and reviewed ionic and covalent bonds.

The second woman he slept with was about a year and a half ago, not long after his most recent heart surgery. He did it with a family friend of Lily’s, who had “always had a thing for that Lupin kid.” He did it mainly as a service for Lily, since she was very concerned about his sexual well-being. Since he couldn’t really overexert himself, he let her do most of the work. They had sex on her futon bed. She was very noisy. He was concerned about whether or not the neighbors could hear. Neither of them faked it, as far as he could tell, and he stayed the night and did it again in the morning. But, unlike his previous experience, there was no chemistry to be had--that is to say, no bond was formed. They said their goodbyes, and there was no follow up. (Remus ran into her once at a dinner party at Lily’ a few months later. They were very cordial, and both pretended they didn’t know what the other looked like naked.)

Remus was less familiar with boys, having only sort of experienced with one.

When he was sixteen, he was president of the student council, and was okay friends with his vice president--a kid named Elliot. One day, they stayed late in the library, finishing up some paperwork for a fundraiser they were organizing, when the librarian--an old and bitter woman who trusted them entirely too much--went home, telling them to ‘lock up before you leave.’

They worked studiously for a while, before Elliot turned to Remus and shyly asked, “Have you ever kissed a boy?” Remus replied in his usual fashion for dealing with awkward questions, by shrugging a lot and avoiding eye contact. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to kiss a boy,” Elliot went on, seemingly unaware of Remus’ increasingly reddened face.

“Might be,” Remus said, as it was the only coherent thing he could think to say. He had never thought too hard about his sexuality--it didn’t seem necessary, since he hardly interacted with anyone as friends, let alone romantically--but being put on the spot, he realized that he, at the very least, found Elliot to be aesthetically pleasing, and maybe kissing him wouldn’t be so bad?

“Do you want to try it?” Elliot asked. Remus gave his deflective answer, which Elliot took to mean yes. He made a show of pushing their paperwork to the side, and kissed Remus right on the mouth.

It was different than when he had tried kissing Lily some time before. Elliot was young, but still had a little bit of stubble on his upper lip and chin, which tickled Remus’ face. His lips were bigger, and not as smooth, and he kissed rougher than Lily had, but not in an unpleasant way. It wasn’t better or worse than kissing Lily, so Remus decided he liked kissing boys and girls equally.

After school student council sessions soon became a regular snogging fest between Remus and his vice president. Elliot was a closet case--very obviously into boys, but still insistent to Remus that their makeouts were just ‘out of curiosity.’ Remus, who didn’t feel any need to date this kid, and who was enjoying the physical affection, wasn’t fussed.

They only progressed past kissing one time.

It was well past six in the evening, and the librarian had once again left them alone with the keys. Remus and Elliot fell into their usual pattern of work, then kissing, when Elliot said, “I’d like to try something,” and led Remus to the furthest and darkest corner of the stacks that he could find. There, he pulled down Remus’ trousers and underthings right down to his knees, fully exposing him. Dumbfounded, but not opposed, Remus allowed Elliot to take him sloppily into his mouth. Elliot lacked any sort of skill, but because Remus was sixteen, hormonal, and had never had anything better than his right hand, climaxed right into his vice president’s mouth.

“I’m not queer,” Elliot said when he came back up, wiping the back of his mouth, his own erection being very obvious between them. “But, I mean, if you wanted to try that on me, I’d let you. Just… just so you know.”

It was at this point Remus decided he didn’t want to be complacent in this child’s self-denial any longer, and politely declined. From then on, student council after school sessions became business only, and Remus has not gone further with a guy ever since.

But would he like to go further with Sirius?

The answer to that question is obvious, Remus realizes. Of course he’s sexually attracted to him. Of course that’s the undertone of every stolen glance he takes, every thought he has when he thinks about being near him. But this whole time he’s been worried about the emotional aspect of their relationship, and he hadn’t even stopped to think of the implications a sexual component might bring.

If Alice is right, then Sirius is a very sexual person. It seems unlikely he would wait for Remus forever. Remus thinks about Sirius going out and finding someone else to hook up with, and the immediate way his gut clenches in overwhelming jealousy unsettles him. He isn’t being fair. He can’t stake a claim on Sirius, and at the same time refuse him everything. He has to make a decision. This, he realizes, is part of what Lily was trying to tell him.

“Hey Remus.” Peter comes over and plops down beside him. His ears are red from being outside in the cold, and he blows on his hands to warm them up. “How’re you doing? Enjoying the party?”

“Pete,” Remus says thoughtfully, not listening to what Peter is saying. “Do you think two people can have sex and really not develop deeper feelings for one another?”

“Sure,” Peter says shrugging. “I think that sort of thing happens all the time.”

“You think so?” Remus says, glancing over. “You think that’s something I could do?”

“Oh, we’re talking about _you_?” Peter clarifies. “Then no, absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Remus asks, disappointed.

“We’re talking about you and Sirius, right? Casual sex would _definitely_ not work between the two of you, because you are already totally smitten with each other.”

“So you think the sex would just make it worse?”

“I mean, if you think liking each other a whole bunch more is ‘making it worse’ than I guess so.”

“So, basically, if I want to have sex with Sirius, I essentially have to be in a relationship with him? Is that what you’re saying?”

Peter shrugs. “Go big or go home, man.”

“Fuck,” Remus mutters. He knows Peter is right. He hazards a glance towards Sirius. He’s talking animatedly with a young looking boy, who is similarly built as Sirius, and has the same dark eyes and hair. “Who’s Sirius talking to over there?” Remus asks Peter.

“Hm? Oh. That’s his brother, Regulus.”

“I didn’t know he had a brother,” Remus says, examining the way Sirius positions himself around his brother, almost like a bodyguard. “Younger, I’m guessing. I thought he hated all his family?”

“He does mostly. Regulus is alright though. Sirius only sees him every now and then, because his mother doesn’t want the two of them to be in contact, but Regulus can usually sneak away to visit on New Year’s Eve if he tells Mrs. Black he’s going out with friends. He still lives at home. I think he just started uni this year.”

“Huh,” Remus muses.

“Yeah, I dunno, I think when Sirius got disowned it hurt him a whole bunch, but I think one of the things that hurt him the worst was not being able to be there for Regulus. So like, even though they disagree on a lot of things, Sirius always gets _super_ happy when he gets to see his little brother.”

“He’s really protective over people, isn’t he?”

“You just now figuring that out?” Peter says, laughing. “That’s what they’ll put on Sirius Black’s gravestone. ‘Overly Protective Wanker.’” Remus smiles, but doesn’t say anything. He can feel Peter watching him. “Hey, so, I know it’s not my business or whatever, but for whatever it's worth, I think you and Sirius would be really good for each other.”

“You think?” Remus asks uncertainly. “Looking around this room, at all your guys’ friends, I stand out pretty badly, don’t you think?”

“Nah,” Peter says. “I think you’re the same as us in the ways that count, and you’re different in the ways that count too. Dunno, I’m no expert, but Sirius could probably use someone like you--someone level headed and cautious. And he really likes you, you know? Like, I don’t know if you know how much, because he doesn’t say it outright, you just sort of have to observe it, but I’m pretty sure he thinks you shit rainbows.”

Remus lets out a small ‘pfft,’ before going a bit more stoic. “I like him too,” he says after a moment. “But I guess I’m worried about what might happen if we tried it, you know?”

“Could be awful,” Peter says. “Could be great. But you gotta try it to know one way or the other.” From over on the dance floor, Nicki Minaj's _Anaconda_  has started playing for the third time. Peter pats Remus on the knee and says, very seriously, “Excuse me, now, Remus, but this is my jam,” and runs over to jump on James’ back.

Remus smiles. “Godspeed,” he mutters, leaning back against the wall.

\---

Midnight has come and gone, and now Sirius is left with a house full of guests ringing in the new year by getting as plastered as possible. He goes to figure out where everyone is. Alice and Frank left an hour ago, and he knows Peter passed out by the stereo not long after. He finds Marlene in between a man and a woman, alternating which one she’s making out with. When she comes up for a breath, Sirius asks her if he’s seen James, to which she just grins wickedly and puts a finger to her lips. “Mum’s the word, Sirius my love,” she slurs, diving back into her double makeout session. Mary is on the dance floor with her plus one, being practically held up by him, while they sway slightly to whatever music is playing--they ran out of playlsits, so they just put someone’s ipod on shuffle. He knows Remus has been in the corner all night, but when he goes to find him, he’s gone.

He is about to go look for him, when he hears his voice yell out, “Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” and then hears a door slam behind him. Sirius goes to investigate, and finds him outside the bathroom with his hands over his eyes like he’s just seen something horrible.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asks. Remus, seemingly unable to form words, gestures towards the bathroom, while keeping his eyes tightly shut.

Cautiously, Sirius goes over and cracks the door slightly. “Oh God, you guys, come on!” he yells. Inside the bathroom is James and Lily lying on the bathroom rug. It is hard to tell where James starts and Lily ends. They are both in varying stages of undress. James giggles while Lily shouts at Sirius to shut the door. “Couldn’t you at least picked a place that isn’t for public use?” Sirius shouts back, but closes the door behind him anyway.

“I’m never going to unsee that,” Remus says in a dazed voice once Sirius joins him against the wall. “I’m never going to unsee that, and I still need to pee.”

“You can use mine,” Sirius says, leading him to his bedroom, too tired to be phased by much right now. “I’ll wait for you in my room, it’ll give me an excuse to leave the party for a few minutes. It’s been a long night.”

“Thanks,” Remus says. He goes into Sirius’ bathroom, while Sirius plops down on his bed, and lays on his back. He loves hosting parties, but they take a lot out of him. He yawns and rubs his eyes.

A few minutes later, Remus comes over and sits next to him, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve fully processed that,” he says.

“What? Lily and James shagging in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s a New Year’s miracle,” Sirius says with a tired grin, then shrugs. “That, or Marlene had something to do with it. Either Lily will wake up tomorrow morning and completely hate herself, or she’ll realize James isn’t quite as bad as he seems like he is sometimes.”

“And how will James be?” Remus asks.

“James isn’t going to shut up about it for the next ten years,” Sirius says with absolute confidence. “It’s going to be terrible.” Remus laughs.

“Lily probably won’t either, if it makes you feel any better.” He yawns as well. Sirius looks over at him and nudges him gently.

“Hey,” he says. “How are you doing? I’ve barely seen you all night. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m fine. Not used to staying up this late though.”

“You can go to bed if you need to,” Sirius says. “Everyone is either passed out or too drunk to care.”

“In a bit,” Remus says. “I’m alright right now. How come you’re not super drunk, though?”

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t drink much if I’m hosting. I am a little drunk, in case you were worried, though.”

“Well good, I wouldn’t want you to enter the New Year sober.”

“God forbid.”

Remus smiles. His smile is the worst, Sirius thinks, because it makes every part of his face go softer somehow. Every time Sirius thinks he’s going to be okay with their platonic arrangement, Remus has to go and smile, and Sirius realizes he’s a goner, over and over again.

“Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?” Remus asks.

“Not a single one,” Sirius says proudly, trying not to look at a curly lock of hair that’s hanging over Remus’ face. He’s pretty sure pushing hair out of his face would qualify as Over the Boundary Line. “I dunno, I don’t like to think that there’s only one day out of the year I’m supposed to dedicate to self-improvement. I’d rather do it when I’m not drunk and feeling high off of holiday fever.”

“That’s fair,” Remus says, scratching absently at the back of his hand. “I made one, though, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh?” Sirius asks. “And what was that?”

Remus takes a deep breath. “My New Year’s resolution is to stop putting off the inevitable.”

Sirius notices Remus scoot just a little closer to him on the bed, but he doesn’t dare hope just yet. “What do you mean by that?” he asks.

“Well,” says Remus. “As our dear friend Mr. Washburn would say, ‘there’s almost always something you can do to postpone the inevitable, but I suppose the real courage is being able to face that which is fated.’ You remember that quote?”

“Kind of,” Sirius says. “I haven’t gotten to that bit yet, but I remember that was one of the first quotes from that book you ever said to me.”

“Correct,” Remus says. “And I’m sure, like any literary work, you could look at that quote in a lot of different ways, but I’m choosing to look at it as, ‘stop putting things off because you’re scared, you blundering idiot.’”

Sirius laughs a little, but can’t help but notice Remus very gently playing with a loose seam on the blanket bunched up around Sirius’ hand, so he’s just millimeters away from touching him. “Seems like good advice,” he says.

“I thought so,” says Remus, furrowing his brow at the bed. “And I think--and you can tell me what you think of this--but I think the first order of business, if I’m really gonna stick to that resolution, is I need to stop being afraid of you.”

“In what way?” Sirius asks, trying not to let Remus hear the way his breath hitches in his throat. Remus’ fingers are now very lightly moving up and down Sirius’ wrist, but Remus still isn’t looking at him.

“I was talking to Alice earlier, and she said that Marlene said that you haven’t slept with anyone since you and I met, and Alice suggested it might be because you’re waiting on me.”

“You sound like a group of schoolgirls. That’s a lot of ‘he said, she said.’”

“Perhaps,” Remus agrees. “But is it true?”

“Well,” Sirius says. Remus is now faintly holding onto Sirius’ thumb, and is squeezing it ever so slightly. “Perhaps.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be the case,” says Remus. “And I sort of realized that I wasn’t really being fair to you. I was keeping you from other people, but giving you nothing in return.”

“I don’t want you to think that,” says Sirius, as Remus laces his first two fingers between Sirius’ own. “I don’t want you to think you owe me anything. Especially not…you know.” He sort of shrugs. “I mean to say, I’m fine, alright? You’re not like, depriving me of anything. And if anything were to, uh, happen between us...I’d want it to be because you want to, not because you feel like you should.”

“I know,” says Remus, looking up a little, but still not quite making eye contact. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? I _do_ want to.” Sirius swallows a little harder than he means to. “But I was talking to Peter, and I realized--I can’t just have one part of the relationship without the other. If I do anything, you know, _intimate_ with you, then we have to do the rest. The whole shabang. Go big or go home, or whatever.”

“I get it,” Sirius says. Their fingers are now completely laced together, and Remus is using his thumb to draw circles on Sirius’ palm. “That’s what I would want too. Honestly, Remus, to stop dancing around the issue with awkward euphemisms, I would love to have sex with you. But I also don’t think I could if I couldn’t touch you the rest of the time, you know? If I still had to pretend like my feelings for you are platonic, because they simply aren’t.”

“Yeah,” says Remus. “I know the feeling.” He finally meets Sirius’ eye, and gives a very small half smile. “It’s been Hell. I know I’m the one who set the rules in the first place, but it’s been Hell. And it’s like, my fears really could be valid, right? This could all end badly. But I also have been living my life cautiously since I was born, and I’m kind of sick of it, you know? It’s getting kind of old. And, I don’t know, ‘there’s almost always something you can do to put off the inevitable,’ but what’s the point? It might not feel good down the road, but it definitely doesn't feel good now. So what, pray tell, am I postponing for?” Remus bites the corner of his lip. "That's what I've been thinking about." 

Sirius draws himself up into a sitting position, and squeezes Remus’ hand tight. “You sort of seem like an inevitability to me, Remus,” he says, partially because he knows Remus will love it, but mostly because it’s true. "I'd hate for you to postpone me."

Remus blinks, and a smiles that softens every corner of his face blooms across him. “You seem like one to me too,” he says, bring his free hand up to cup Sirius’ face. "And I'd hate to make you a victim of perpetual postponing." 

And then, finally, Remus kisses him. Oh! how he kisses him, with no trepidation or worry--only total lust and admiration. Sirius feels an overwhelming relief. It’s like eating a food he’s been craving for weeks. He let’s Remus set the pace, and melts into himself when Remus parts his lips and meets Sirius’ tongue with his own. Remus bites, just slightly, grazing his teeth against Sirius’ lower lip. Sirius is faintly aware of Remus pulling the pen out of his hair, and wrapping his fingers in it as it falls about Sirius’ shoulders.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” Remus admits, breath hot and frantic. Sirius grins, and lets his hair be tugged at as Remus kisses him thoroughly. Getting bolder, Sirius slips his hands underneath Remus’ sweater. The skin of his back and belly is warm and smooth, and Sirius has an intense urge to press his lips against it.

“Do you have any…” Sirius sort of falters. “Is there anything you can’t do? Because of your heart?”

“Can’t overexert myself much,” Remus says, a little embarrassed, pushing back the hair out of Sirius’ face. “But I can do pretty much anything as long as we do it slowly.”

Sirius, thinking he wants every last second to soak up all of Remus, doesn’t feel like this is a hindrance at all. He simply nods, and slips his hands out from under the sweater, and grabs it at the hem. He tugs it over Remus’ head, and pushes him gently so he lays down on his back.

He is very pale, with a few freckles along his torso, one particularly notable one right above his belly button. He isn’t muscular, but he isn’t as frail as Sirius might have anticipated either. Over the left side of his chest, the skin is rich in scar tissue, where surgeons have come at him with scalpels and knives.

Remus sees him looking at his scars. “They’re really nasty, I know,” he says of them. “Just ignore them.”

But Sirius doesn’t think they’re nasty at all. In fact, he doesn’t think he can find any part of Remus’ body ‘nasty.’ To prove it, he leans over and kisses every scar. Remus laughs a little, and Sirius moves back up to kiss him on the mouth again. Remus’ whole body goes to stone. Sirius loves it. Every waking moment, this kid is in some kind of motion, _except_ when Sirius kisses him. Sirius vows to never mention this. He never wants Remus to be conscious of it, in case it makes it change.

“I need to tell you,” Remus says, suddenly bashful. “I’m not...I haven’t...With a guy I mean. I might be bad at it.”

Now Sirius laughs, and shakes his head. “Oh you silly weirdo,” he says affectionately, brushing a few errant strands of hair behind Remus’ ear. “Sex isn’t a competition, love. I don’t care if you’ve slept with no boys or a hundred. You know what I do care about, though?”

“What?” Remus asks, a little breathlessly, leaning into Sirius’ touch.

“You,” Sirius says with a smile. “I care about how good it feels to be this close to you. I care about how beautiful you look all the fucking time, but especially right now. I care about all the places on your body I get to touch now. I care, quite a bit, about this little spot under your chin, right on your collarbone, and how much I want to kiss it.” He leans down and presses his lips to the base of Remus’ neck and marvels at how still every bit of his body becomes. “I care about how you feel right now,” he says.

“Overwhelmed,” Remus says. “But in the best way possible.”

“That’s a good way to feel,” Sirius says, and again they kiss. And kiss. And kiss some more, as they shed their clothes and toss them carelessly off the bed. With other people Sirius has slept with, Sirius has thought more about the physical aspects. His mind would be like a book, “1,001 Things to do with a Penis,” and he would implement as many as he could, trying to garner as much physical pleasure as he could, but it’s different with Remus.

With Remus, he’s aware that they are touching. He’s aware of every bite, suck, and lick, but it registers differently in him. Like every touch resonates internally, so that the sex itself feels almost spiritual. Remus isn’t particularly skillful, but everything he does makes Sirius swear he sees the cosmos behind his eyes.

James would probably vomit at his feet if he ever were to say it aloud, but Sirius is pretty sure he finally understands the difference between fucking and making love.

Afterwards, they lay in the afterglow, still tangled together, breathless and content, the party behind the bedroom doors long forgotten. Faintly, Sirius can hear the music still playing, and a voice or two, but it feels like it exists on another planet. He rests his head against Remus’ chest, and can hear his sick heart beating. Whatever was of it in the past, and whatever may come of it, right now, Remus’ heart is strong.

They don’t say anything--they don’t have to. Sirius knows they’re both thinking the same thing. They’re thinking that this was inevitable, and that the future is uncertain, but maybe that’s okay.

“This is a precarious life,” Sirius quotes softly, several minutes later, into the still of the room. He can’t see him, but he knows, just by instinct, Remus smiles.

“Happy to spend it with you,” Remus replies sleepily.

 **  
** Sirius buries his face against Remus’ skin, and lets himself drift to sleep, his hand laced with Remus’, where it fits together perfectly, as though it always was supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. sorry i made neville older than harry. for later fic continuity, i had to do it  
> 2\. wait, does that mean harry will be in this? patience, grasshopper, is a virtue  
> 3\. writing sex between these two is weird, bc i'm one of those "top!remus/slut!remus" headcanoners, but none of that really made sense for this particular story, so whateverrrr. i hope you enjoyed it anyway  
> 4\. leave me comments. just do it. i dare u.  
> 5\. severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com sometimes i make depressing headcanons, and post silly things. check it out  
> 6\. thank uuuuuuuuuu  
> 7\. bed time, k byee


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which discussions about love, Valentine's Day, and birthdays happen, and also time skips, and maybe, possibly, a cliffhanger :o

Being with Remus Lupin is like being told you’ve been speaking English wrong your whole life, and you’re just now getting it right. Being with boys before used to be so fundamental, so basic, that it came to Sirius as second nature. But everything he knew to be true in romantic entanglements, no longer applies.

 

It has been nearly two months since New Year’s Eve, and Remus has changed everything in Sirius’ life.

 

That may be an exaggeration, Sirius knows, but it’s certainly what it feels like.

 

Because first of all, he’s never felt like this with a boy before. Not the obsessive, always-in-my-thoughts feeling--that one he’s familiar with--but instead, the feeling that Remus fits in his life like a puzzle piece is what is so unsettling to him. Boys he’s been with before have always felt a little jagged, as though Sirius had to smooth parts of them to make them fit, but not Remus. At night, when they’re in bed, Sirius’ arm draped over Remus’ waist, it doesn’t feel like he has someone sharing a bed with him. Instead, it just feels like an extension of himself--a new part of him which hadn’t been there before, but belongs there now.

 

Also, Sirius finds himself, for the first time, considering the future.

 

Not that he never contemplated the future before Remus, but he’s always been a bit of a “go-with-the-flow” type of guy. He doesn’t like to think too far ahead--the future is always uncertain and that makes his stomach feel funny--but now he finds he can’t help but indulge in the occasional vision of what life might be like if Remus were to become a permanent fixture in it, and he’s never done that with a boy before.

 

It feels almost dangerous, really. It feels dangerous because it feels like it could very possibly be turning into love.

 

Sirius doesn’t know for certain, though, because he’s never been in love before. He’s not sure what constitutes the emotion. It seems like the line between “like” and “love” is thin, which surprises him, because he’s always thought stepping into “love” territory was supposed to be some sort of grand gesture. Instead, he finds himself toeing the line accidentally, and he’s not sure what will trip him up and make him go over.

 

Take today, for example. It’s two days before Valentine’s Day, and he’s sitting in the bookshop with Remus. The weather is an annoying wet slush that sticks to the bottom of shoes. There are wet patches on Remus’ beanie, where it clung to the cotton, and then melted once they were inside. They are sitting in silence--Remus reading, Sirius pretending to--and of course Remus is moving. This time it’s his right foot, where Remus has his legs crossed and it’s dangling in the air, moving as Remus rolls the ankle in little circles. The book in his lap is thick--some dense book Remus said was about “the dissolution of the Roman Empire,” which surprised Sirius not at all that he’d be reading a book about that. Sirius loves watching Remus read. He very gently mouths the words as he goes over them, and uses his index finger to guide himself through each line.

 

Sirius himself is still making his way through _A Life Worth Living,_ which is making Remus absolutely crazy, because it’s been months and he’s not even halfway through. Sirius claims it’s because he’s a slow reader, which Remus doesn’t believe, (“no one reads _that_ slowly,” he says), and Sirius doesn’t deny, because it’s true, he doesn’t read that slowly. He doesn’t read Remus fast, of course, but he can get through a pretty good sized novel at a decent pace.

 

The truth is, he’s savoring it. He’s not even sure why. He’s read it before, after all, it’s not like any part of it will come as a surprise, but there’s something about this reread that he wants to cherish. Probably, it’s because he likes sharing it with Remus. Almost every time he picks it up, Remus is there over his shoulder like an animal picking up a scent. He’ll ask what part he’s at, and no matter what part it is, he’ll smile to himself and nod, saying something to the effect of, “oh I love that bit.” He’ll throw out quotes, which are correct down to the letter, and sometimes will ask Sirius to read him a line or two.

 

If anyone else did this it’d drive him up a wall, but he adores it when Remus does it; is actually disappointed when he doesn’t. He’s almost resentful right now, that Remus has his nose in a different book, and isn’t interrogating him about his own.

 

Surely that’s not something one fixates on with someone one just likes. But is it enough to constitute love?

 

“You’re not actually reading,” Remus says, breaking their silence, not looking up from his book. “What are you thinking about?”

 

Sirius smiles. “How do you know I’m not reading?” he asks.

 

Remus tears himself away from whatever fascinates him about Roman history, his finger marking his spot, and smirks. “Am I wrong?” he asks.

 

“Well, no,” Sirius admits. “But I wanna know how you knew.”

 

“I could feel you thinking,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and adjusting the book on his lap, his finger not moving from its placeholder spot on the page. “That, and you haven’t turned a page in about twenty minutes.”

 

“Ah,” Sirius says, laughing. “I wasn’t aware I was under such scrutiny or I would have turned the pages more to your liking.”

 

Remus smiles a little and nudges Sirius’ knee with his own. “What are you thinking about?” he asks again.

 

Sirius shrugs, closing his book and sitting it to the side. “You,” he says. “That’s generally what I’m thinking about, honestly.”

 

A light blush blooms across the bridge of Remus’ nose and on either cheek as he twirls one of his loose curls around in his fingers. “Such a goddamned romantic,” he says deadpanned so to cover his embarrassment. “What about me?”

 

Sirius, not sure he wants to bring up the ‘love’ discussion just yet, takes Remus’ free hand in his and gently massages his palm. “What are we gonna do for Valentine’s Day?” he asks, successfully deflecting. Remus snorts.

 

“Valentine’s Day?” he asks, saying the words like he’s saying “anal fissure.” Sirius laughs at him.

 

“Yeah, Valentine’s Day. It’s this thing that happens every year, where couples go and do sappy stuff and then have lots of sex when they’re done.”

 

Remus regards Sirius for a moment, before putting a bookmark in his book and sitting it next to Sirius’ beside them. “I have never, in my entire life, done anything for Valentine’s Day,” he says thoughtfully. “Even in primary school, when we were supposed to bring little cards and sweets for everyone in class, I’d feign illness and my mum would let me stay home.”

 

“We don’t have to do anything,” says Sirius, still laughing. What a strange boy! “But what have you got against it? I’d never peg you for a Valentine’s Day hater. Not with the way you wax poetic about sappy literature and go around calling boys you like ‘inevitabilities.’”

 

“Am I that pretentious?” Remus asks rhetorically. “I dunno, I don’t hate it, but I think I’m fundamentally against the premise. I’m a romantic, you’re right, so I’m offended that I’m supposed to save all my romantic declarations and actions for a single day. And through such stereotypical means, my God! Flowers and chocolates and hearts and roses, I mean, how basic can you get?”

 

Sirius is straight up chortling at this point. He watches Remus consider what all he just said.

 

“Christ,” he says after a moment. “I _am_ that pretentious.”

 

“I would have it no other way, love,” Sirius says, wiping a tear from his eye, gripping Remus’ hand tighter. “So am I to take that as a pretty solid ‘no’ to doing anything for Valentine’s Day, then?”

 

“Well,” Remus says, conflict etched on his face. “I mean, not necessarily. I’m willing to put biases aside if it matters to you.”

 

Sirius isn’t sure how much it really does matter to him. He, unlike his strange little Remus, can’t recall a Valentine’s Day where he _hasn’t_ done something. He’s dramatic, and he likes excuses to do grand, dramatic things. Boys he hardly knew would be treated to exquisite dinners, and romantic late-night ferry rides on the water, followed by the best sex they ever were to have. Even that one year as a teenager, when he didn’t have a date (which Sirius was, frankly, scandalized by), he took a similarly dateless James out on the town and spent more money on him on one night than James made in three months flipping burgers at a fast food joint near their school.

 

But this would be the first year he would have a Valentine’s Day with someone he might fall in love with; someone he might already be in love with. And maybe Remus was right--Sirius has so many things he wants to say to Remus, so many things he wants to do for him, at any given time, that it seems almost silly to try and compact all of it into a single day.

 

“We should do something,” Sirius says slowly. “Because Peter asked a coworker of his out to dinner, and you know James and Lily are going to have grandiose plans.” Remus nods and rolls his eyes at this.

 

James and Lily, since their New Year’s Eve bathroom encounter, have been all over each other since.

 

New Year’s Day consisted of James bouncing between congratulating Sirius on finally getting with Remus, and graphically describing more about Lily than Sirius ever cared to know. He later heard from Remus that Lily spent the day trying very hard to convince both Remus and herself that it was a one off thing, which was completely discounted when later that same evening, Remus walked in on them once again, this time finding them partially disrobed on the kitchen counter.

 

After forcing James to disinfect the entire kitchen, a discussion on boundaries, and a “where is okay to have sex?” powerpoint Sirius threw together in fifteen minutes, Lily and James had officially come a _thing_.

 

Part of Sirius was irritated that James started dating Lily the same day he started dating Remus, but a bigger part of him felt that he wouldn’t want it any other way. But now both he and Remus have henceforth had to deal with what Peter affectionately dubbed “Jily.” Each being best friends with a key member of “Jily,” Remus and Sirius have been almost as intimately involved in that relationship as they have been in their own. And while they love their friends and are happy they are together, through having to be a middleman during petty arguments, and the occasional violation of the now sacredly held “where is okay to have sex?” powerpoint, “Jily” has become a bit of a double-edged sword.

 

“But,” Sirius continues. “We don’t have to do anything, I don’t know, big. We can just have dinner, and come home, and maybe we can take turns reading to each other from our book, and, if you’re really lucky, I will let you do some filthy things to me.”

 

“If I’m lucky, huh?” Remus says, grinning as Sirius winks.

 

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Instead of celebrating Valentine’s Day, it’ll just be two people in a relationship doing what they would do on any other day, and that’s going on a nice date, and spending time together, and enjoying each other’s company. That way you don’t have to feel like you have to spend all your romantic gestures in one place.”

 

“That’s a fair compromise,” Remus says. “Valentine’s Day without all the generic Valentine’s Day hullabaloo.”

 

“Exactly. I promise you no roses, no paper hearts, no chocolates. Just dull, boring, me.”

 

“Just what I always wanted, thank you,” says Remus, planting a kiss on Sirius’ knuckles. “Although,” he adds as an afterthought. “If you’d like to do the chocolate bit, I probably wouldn’t complain about that.”

 

\--

 

On Valentine’s Day, Sirius takes Remus to an Indian place he knows. It’s a bit of a hole in the wall, but the food is incredible, and he knows it’s one of the few places that won’t be swamped. They take his motorbike, which Remus only ever agrees to do when it’s too cold to wait for a bus. Between a fear of a potentially bloody death or his nose freezing off, Sirius has learned that Remus will usually pick the bloody death.

 

Sirius requests his favorite table in the far corner, where you can see the rest of the restaurant. Sometimes, he’ll come here alone on his lunch breaks, or on nights when he feels like being by himself, and he’ll people watch while eating his curry.

 

Neither of them are dressed up. Remus is, as always, looking like he sheared several sheep and then hid himself in their wool. He takes his hat off when they’re inside, which the Prim and Proper part of Sirius, which has etiquette permanently drilled into it, appreciates. Remus ruffles his hair, and his loose curls lay on his head in a sloppy mess, and Sirius appreciates this even more.

 

“What’s good here?” Remus asks, looking over the menu with apprehension. “I don’t eat Indian much.”

 

Remus, Sirius has found, isn’t much of a foodie. A lifetime of having to stick to a heart-healthy diet has made him resentful towards food, and he’s one of those people who looks at food like all it is is sustenance for the body, and not something you’re meant to enjoy. The most he ever enjoys food is when he allows himself to splurge on a piece of chocolate before bed every now and then.

 

“For you?” Sirius asks, scanning his own menu. “Get the chicken tandoori. It’s not too spicy, not too unhealthy, and they do it really well here.”

 

“Okay,” Remus says, shutting the menu and taking Sirius at his word, looking relieved.

 

Their waitress comes by to get their orders. Sirius orders three different kinds of naan, and makes Remus get a bowl of soup. “It’ll taste funny at first because you’re not used to it,” he tells him. “But trust me, you’ll learn to like it.”

 

“I don’t usually eat things I don’t know how to pronounce,” Remus counters skeptically.

 

“Yeah, but now you will, and then we can come here and eat soup together, and it will be great,” says Sirius, and Remus acquiesces.

 

They sit in companionable silence. Sirius watches Remus scan the restaurant. It’s small, and dark, with painted clay masks of animal heads hanging along the walls next to large, framed paintings. There’s faint music playing in the background. which neither of them can understand because all the words are in Hindi.

 

Remus’ gaze finally settles on a two people sitting a few tables away, diagonal from them. Sirius follows and watches them too. It’s a man and woman, both looking to be in their mid-thirties, with the man maybe a little older than the woman. The woman is dressed up in a nice, black dress, her hair and makeup done meticulously. The man she’s with is in blue jeans and a slightly wrinkled button-up. He’s balding, and looks unshaven. He’s talking very animatedly, while the woman nods along, her eyes on her phone which is lying openly out on the table. She appears to be playing a game on it.

 

“First date,” Remus says. “Met on the internet, probably. Dating website.”

 

“You think?” Sirius asks, and Remus nods.

 

“Mhm, if they went out together often, they wouldn’t be dressed so differently. There has obviously been a miscommunication about how fancy this date is meant to be. Or maybe it’s just a reflection of their levels of caring.”

 

“Doesn’t look like the date is going that great,” Sirius observes.

 

“Nope,” Remus agrees. “Well, not for her, anyway. The man doesn’t seem to notice.” This is true, as the man is still talking away, gesturing his arms all about the place, seemingly unaware of his date’s apathy. “I bet he’s telling her about how he runs his own business doing website building or something.”

 

Sirius snorts. “He probably is going on and on about how it’s his passion, and how it’s because of his absentee father that’s made intimacy hard for him, which is why he’s nearly forty and still single on Valentine’s Day.”

 

“Oh definitely,” Remus agrees. “And if she tries to say anything about herself, he’ll probably say he’s already done whatever it is she’s done, but better and with more adversity.”

 

“‘Oh, you do office work? I used to do that too, and I got every single promotion offered, until I tragically lost both my thumbs and couldn’t press the spacebar on the computers anymore,’” Sirius mocks. They meet each other’s eye and start laughing. The man at the table glances over, and they hastily look away.

 

Sirius clears his throat and his eyes fall on two people seated a few tables up from behind Remus. It’s a middle aged woman, wearing quite a lot of makeup, in a form fitting, red dress. Her companion is a boy who looks to be his and Remus’ age, and he’s wearing a suit that he’s practically swimming in.

 

“Please tell me,” Sirius says. “That the people behind you are mother and child, and not two people on a date.”

 

Remus grins, and very slowly glances over his shoulder at the table Sirius is nodding towards. When he turns back around, his face is somber. “Definitely a date,” he says. “You don’t wear a dress like that for your son.”

 

“Eek,” says Sirius. “What’s the story, do you think?”

 

“She probably has money, maybe business, maybe inheritance.” He covertly looks behind him again. “He’s just naive, I think,” he says as he turns back around. “Probably thinks it’s love. It probably isn’t. But it won’t matter tonight; not on Valentine’s Day.”

 

It is at this very moment, Sirius knows he has tripped over that thin line he had been toeing so closely before. It hits him suddenly, and somehow feels both like a kick to the gut, and like the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Of course he loves Remus Lupin.

 

A boy who loves romance, but hates Valentine’s Day; who is slowly dying every day, but who is still afraid of motorbikes; who never stops moving (even in his sleep, Sirius now knows, after having to learn to sleep with Remus tossing and turning on the mattress all night), except for when he’s being kissed; who quotes obscure novels off the cuff, and reads about the dissolution of the Roman Empire for fun; who goes on dates and analyzes the people around him as though he were Sherlock Holmes. Sirius wonders, as he considers all this, how there was ever any doubt at all.

 

“You’re looking at me all funny,” Remus says apprehensively, and Sirius realizes he is staring at Remus like he’s the rarest diamond in the world.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Sirius agrees, smiling a little as Remus raises an eyebrow.

 

“Okay, good, glad we’re in agreement,” he says. “Uh, why are you doing that, though?”

 

“Because I think I just realized something pretty important,” Sirius says nonchalantly. “About how I feel about you.”

 

“Just now?” Remus asks, voice steady, but his face betraying him as he turns slightly scarlet and his eyes widen, giving him the disposition of a frightened child.

 

Sirius opens his mouth to respond, but the waitress swoops in and delivers bread and soup to the table. He thanks her, and watches Remus deliberately avoid his eye, and instead pick up a spoon to try his mulligatawny soup.

 

Remus takes a bite and makes a face that falls somewhere between disgusted and confused, and it’s so ridiculous and adorable that Sirius has to laugh, thinking to himself over and over, ‘of course I love him, just look at him.’

 

“I told you it takes some getting used to,” he says when he’s done laughing, although he’s tempted to continue because of the wary way Remus is regarding the soup, as though it might come to life and start saying rude things about his mother.

 

“It’s not the worst thing ever,” Remus says in a voice that makes it sound like he just ate the worst thing ever.

 

“You have to take a few more bites,” Sirius tells him. “Because I told you that you weren’t going to like it at first.”

 

Remus grimaces and sort of stirs it around with his spoon. Sirius reaches over and tears off a piece of naan bread and hands it to him. “Try dipping this in it,” he says. Remus grants him brief eye contact, although it’s full of skepticism and contempt. He takes the bread and dips it in the soup, and sort of stares at it like he’s preparing himself to take a shot of straight whiskey.

 

“God it’s like trying to get a kid to eat his vegetables, just eat it,” Sirius says, amused.

 

“Blurgh,” Remus says, and then eats the bread. He swallows, considers it, and then shrugs up at Sirius. “Better,” he says. “That was a little better. Still weird though.”

 

“You’re the weird one,” Sirius says affectionately. “Completely and utterly strange, you are.”

 

“Is that...” Remus starts, absently tearing a piece of bread off and playing with it between his fingers. “Is that what you realized a moment ago? That big epiphany that made your face go funny? That I’m strange?”

 

“No,” Sirius says. “That’s not what it was.”

 

“Well, then, before you tell me what it was,” Remus says, staring at the bread in his hands that he’s tearing into smaller and smaller pieces. “Remember that you told me no Valentine’s Day cliches. No...no romantic declarations or anything. Just, you know, so you remember what you promised.”

 

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?” Sirius recalls.

 

“Yeah,” says Remus. “So if you have something to say that would fall under the umbrella of ‘romantic declaration,’ maybe… don’t say it?” Remus is staring so hard at the naan that Sirius is almost concerned little laser beams are going to shoot out of his pupils.

 

“Don’t say it because it’s Valentine’s Day, and you don’t want cliches, or don’t say it because you’re afraid of it?”

 

Remus makes the same face he made when he first tasted the soup. “Don’t say it because…” he trails off, evidently thinking to himself. “Don’t say it because it’s not time to say it,” he says finally. “Not because it’s bad that you want to say it, mind you, and not even...not even because it’s not reciprocated, necessarily. But just because it’s not time to say it.”

 

Somehow, Remus vaguely telling Sirius not to say he loves him makes him love him even more.

 

This whole thing is ridiculous, Sirius thinks fondly.

 

“Okay. How do I know when it’s time to make a romantic declaration, though?” he asks. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

 

“Er,” Remus says unhelpfully. “Dunno. When it is, I guess.”

 

Sirius reaches over and very gently lifts Remus’ head up by the chin. Remus reluctantly looks up and gives Sirius a sheepish grimace. Sirius just smiles at him, leans over the table, nearly dipping his shirt in lime chutney, and kisses Remus on the forehead.

 

He sits back in his chair, and regards two people sitting adjacent to them. He nods his head towards them.

 

“What’s their deal, you think?” he asks Remus.

 

Remus startles, then, clearly relieved, goes and looks to where Sirius is staring.

 

“Definitely not a first date,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps even married.”

 

“How do you know?” Sirius asks.

 

“Watch how they’re talking,” Remus says.

 

“They’re not talking,” Sirius says. The couple they’re watching is eating their food and just smiling at one another periodically.

 

“Yeah they are,” Remus says simply. “Just not out loud. Only people who are really comfortable with each other would be able to have a conversation without ever saying a word.” He glances at Sirius. In this single, silent gesture, he says a million words. Sirius understands all of them.

 

Sirius’ face blooms, and he takes a big spoonful of his own soup, regarding this boy with so much love he can hardly stand it.

 

“I see what you mean,” he says.

 

\--

 

In early March, Remus is woken up by Sirius mumbling something into the back of his neck.

 

It takes him a moment to register it, and even then he’s not sure he actually heard anything. He turns over to his other side to face Sirius, whose eyes are droopy with sleep, whose is hair splayed over his forehead, and who has a bit of dried saliva in the corner of his grinning mouth.

 

“Hm?” Remus asks in his own drowsy voice, rubbing at his drowsy face with one hand. “What’d you say?”

 

“I said happy birthday,” Sirius says, reaching over and pushing some of Remus’ hair behind his ear.

 

It’s been ages, and Remus still isn’t used to this--this waking up beside someone else. The idea of it didn’t used to appeal to him. He would think of himself in the mornings--sour mouthed, with greasy skin, a full bladder, and messy hair--and think he would never want someone else to see him like that if he could help it. It was bad enough having nurses see him that way whenever he had spent prolonged time in hospital--he couldn’t imagine having someone he actually fancied seeing him like that.

 

But the reality is that he actually loves it.

 

He almost always goes to bed before Sirius, due to his problem little heart, but every night he wakes just slightly and can feel the weight of Sirius beside him when he finally comes to bed, and something about having him there makes him feel more comfortable--as though he’s safer, somehow.

 

And waking up with Sirius is nothing short of a gift. Remus never realized how lonely he was, until he wasn’t alone anymore. There are days, here and there, where Sirius has to get up before Remus, and those days feel a little hollow after getting used to waking up alongside him.

 

The things he used to worry about are completely irrelevant. Even morning breath smells sweet when he is woken up to soft kisses along the temple of his forehead. Sometimes it even progresses to more than that, and although he had always been very anti-morning sex on the basis that human bodies are disgusting first thing in the morning, he finds no part of his body nor Sirius’ feels disgusting if the moment is right.

 

“Is it my birthday?” Remus asks, although it’s in jest. He buries his face against Sirius’ chest, knowing quite well that today is March 10th.

 

“Yes sir,” says Sirius, lightly scratching Remus along his back. “Unless I am quite mistaken, which I’m certain I’m not, you are twenty one years old today.”

 

Remus lets out an apathetic hum, and leans into Sirius’ touch.

 

Truth be told, Remus has never been one for birthdays. He imagines it has something to do with the fact that he knows--has always known--that he’s going to die young. Birthdays only serve as a reminder that he’s made it around the sun one more time, and whose to say that it’s not the last? Birthdays feel like a mocking from the universe. Like the Earth is saying, “I’ve got billions of revolutions left in me, but who knows if that was your last trip around the ellipse?”

 

He’s not going to voice this, of course. He knows Sirius just loves excuses to celebrate, and he’s going to allow him to use his birthday as one. In a way, he’s grateful. He’d much rather spend his birthday with his boyfriend and his friends, than with his parents like he usually does. His mother usually has to drink herself nearly comatose to get through them, as though each and every birthday is the last. His father is the opposite, of course, acting like Remus’ birthdays are infinite in number. Remus isn’t sure which is worse, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with either today. That, in and of itself, is a great birthday gift.

 

Of course, he knows Sirius has more than that up his sleeve. Remus asked him to keep things small--just the Marauders and Lily--but he also knows Sirius doesn’t really do anything in a small way, and will probably find a way to make even a simple get together feel grandiose.

 

“I have to go to work for a few hours,” Sirius says into Remus’ hair. “But Lily is taking the afternoon off classes to fill in for me while I’m gone. Then we’re all going to get together tonight to celebrate, alright?”

 

“Don’t hafta,” Remus mumbles into the fleece of Sirius’ pajama shirt.

 

“Yeah, but we’re going to,” Sirius says fondly. “Because you’re special, and we care about you, and birthdays don’t happen every day.”

 

Remus pulls away to look up at Sirius and protest, but Sirius is too quick for him. He ducks in and plants a sloppy kiss right on his mouth, making Remus laugh.

 

“Don’t bother complaining, it’ll do you no good,” Sirius says, his mouth centimeters away from Remus’. He closes the gap, kissing him in a way that has since become familiar, but no less wonderful. Somehow, Sirius’ hand finds Remus’ waistband, and he pulls down until Remus is fully exposed under their heavy comforter.

 

The typical morning bodily functions already working in their favor, Remus lets out quiet little breathy noises, as Sirius burrows under the covers, and finds Remus underneath the sheets. Remus lets Sirius’ mouth bring him to completion, shuddering at the aftershock of his orgasm.

 

Sirius comes back up, grinning wildly, his lips obscenely swollen and pink.

 

“Want me to…” Remus asks, nodding awkwardly in the general direction of Sirius’ lower body, but he shakes his head.

 

“Gotta work,” Sirius says. “Besides, today is about you.” He kisses Remus on the cheek, before throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and going over to the dresser and picking out clothes. “Feel free to go back to sleep for a while,” he says, as he heads towards the bathroom for a shower. “Lily will be here around noon. I’ll text you at my lunch hour. I lo--” Sirius coughs awkwardly, catching himself before saying the three words they both know were very nearly on his lips. Remus blushes, but doesn’t call out this blunder.

 

“Have a good day at work,” he says instead.

 

“I’ll see you this evening,” Sirius says, shaking off the embarrassment like a wet dog. “Try and enjoy yourself today, okay?” And he disappears behind the bathroom door. Remus lies back down, closes his eyes, and just as he thinks he couldn’t possibly go back to sleep with an incident like that in the forefront of his mind, he drifts right back into slumber.

 

\--

 

Remus should have known better than to think that Lily was going to let him have a quiet day at home. As it is, the moment she comes in the door, she tells him to put on a coat, because they’re having a friend’s day out to pamper themselves.

 

“I know you’re going to complain about it,” Lily says the second Remus opens his mouth. “But you might as well save it. I happen to know for a fact that you actually like pedicures, because you told me that one time you were super doped up on morphine after your surgery. Also I booked us appointments for massages, and I made sure not to get that one guy you said smelled like old cabbage and whose fingers felt like kielbasa sausages, so don’t you dare doubt me Mr. Lupin. I’m skipping my bio lab for this, so you’re going to enjoy yourself, goddamnit.”

 

Remus, knowing better than to argue, merely grabs his coat.

 

Lily takes him to her regular nail salon, where she’s greeted like an old friend. Lily isn’t wrong when she says that Remus likes pedicures--he finds them rather soothing--but on the rare occasions he’s let Lily drag him into them, he’s always been a little off put by all the attention he gets, being one of the only male customers. He also feels like there isn’t enough money in the world to pay someone for having to touch feet all day, but that’s another issue entirely.

 

“So tell me,” Lily says, once they’re both in their big massage chairs, their feet submerged in hot water and bath salts. “What’s been going on with you and Sirius? I haven’t been able to catch up with you in ages.”

 

It’s true. Lily has been swamped with school, and when she’s not doing schoolwork, she’s generally with James. Remus is understanding, being in a relatively new relationship himself, but he does miss his friend.

 

“It’s good,” Remus says, knowing full well that Lily won’t take that as a respectable answer.

 

“Good?” Lily asks in a predictably irritable tone. “No, no, no, do better than that. What’s it like? Is it getting serious? Is he a good lay? Details, Remus, details!”

 

“Uh, well,” Remus says. “He almost told me he loved me this morning. That’s a thing, I guess.”

 

“ _What_?” Lily asks, accidentally kicking water in the nail technicians face. “He did? What happened? What’d you say?”

 

“It just almost slipped out. We both just sort of ignored it.”

 

The truth is that incidents like that have been happening more and more since Valentine’s Day, when Sirius all but admitted to Remus that he was in love with him. So far, Remus has been able to deflect the issue. Deflection, after all, is one of Remus’ most valued skills.

 

“You just ignored it,” Lily echoes in disbelief. “So, what, he’s in love with you, and you’re just...not talking about it?”

 

“Basically,” Remus says, watching his own nail technician clip away bits of nail around his cuticles. “I mean, I already knew. He, er, heavily implied it when we went out on Valentine’s Day, but I asked him not to say it.”

 

“You asked him not to tell you he loves you? Why, because you don’t feel the same and don’t want it to be awkward or something?”

 

“No, because I’m scared of him telling me he loves me.”

 

“Even though you already know he does?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Remus...do you love him?”

 

“Yes,” Remus says without hesitation. He knew the question was coming, and he knows there’s no point in lying. Yes, he’s in love with Sirius Black. That really shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone, he feels. Remus would fall in love with a rock if it read to him and called him pretty enough times. Honestly, he probably was already falling in love with Sirius the first time he ever read _A Life Worth Living_ to him. Anything after that has just been a repression of the truth.

 

“Then why are you afraid of him saying it to you?”

 

“No idea,” Remus says.

 

“You must have some idea,” Lily says.

 

Remus considers what to say next very carefully. “I’m afraid of him saying it to me, because if he says it, then everything is real,” he says, realizing this as true as he says it. “Like, that’s it, he’s involved, and we’re a part of each other’s lives.”

 

“So what?”

 

“So, being a part of my life means being a part of my illness. It means having to face the fact that I’m sick, and am always going to be sick, and, transplant or not, I’m not going to live as long as he will.”

 

“Oh Remus,” Lily says in an exasperated voice that is a mix between sympathy and condescension. “We’ve been over this, you know. He knows you’re sick.”

 

“He knows I’m sick like an outsider knows,” Remus counters with equal exasperation. “But he's never been there for an incident. He hasn't seen me in hospital. But once he says ‘I love you,’ then my issues become his. I’ve never shared my illness like that before, not even with you, you know? Not in that intimate of a way. The closest it’s gotten to that is my parents, and look what it’s done to them.”

 

“First off, your parents are not your responsibility, and the way they handle your illness is irresponsible at best, and neglectful at worst, so don’t even compare Sirius to them. Secondly, if he already loves you, and you already love him, does it really matter if you’re saying it out loud or not? Isn’t he already involved?”

 

Remus doesn’t have a retort to that, because there isn’t one. Instead he says, “Are you in love with James?”

 

“That’s not what we were talking about,” Lily says.

 

“I know, but I want to know. Do you love him?”

 

Lily opens her mouth, and for a second Remus thinks she’s going to argue that he’s deflecting, (he is), but instead she sort of deflates and shrugs. “I mean, I worry about my and James’ longevity. We’re really different people in a lot of respects, you know? I mean, we started our relationship out with hate sex, for christ’s sake.”

 

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “But do you love him?”

 

Lily is silent for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I mean, yeah, of course I do, yes. And he loves me too, I think.”

 

“You gonna tell him?” Remus asks.

 

“God no,” says Lily.

 

“Because you’re afraid to?” Remus asks.

 

“Terrified,” says Lily. She gives Remus a smile that tells him she knows she hears the hypocrisy in her answer, and the two of them laugh.

 

“Well, there you go then,” Remus says, leaning back in his chair. “You talk a lot of big talk, my friend, but it’s not as easy as it looks.”

 

“You think we were better off before these stupid boys came into our lives?” Lily asks in what probably is meant to be in jest, but comes out a little serious. Remus just smiles and shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

 

\--

 

“It is Marauder tradition,” Sirius is saying, standing up on his chair above the kitchen table where they’re all seated, wielding a knife in a way that makes Remus very uneasy. “That whomever’s birthday it is, gets to pick one other Marauder of his choosing to do something ridiculous and painfully embarrassing.”

 

Remus’ birthday get together (he refuses to refer to it as a party) has been relatively painless thus far. Sirius kept his word, and only he, James, Peter, and Lily are there. They got takeaway, watched a couple dumb movies, and have just in general been having a good time. But then, of course, Sirius had to bring out the cake, which is when the dramatics began.

 

The cake itself is hilarious.

 

Evidently, James and Peter were on cake duty while Sirius was at work, and Lily and Remus were out on their pampering excursion, and it turns out that neither James nor Peter excel in the art of baking. It is a three layer cake, that resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The frosting is--well, there was an attempt made, Remus assumes, just not a very vigorous one. It looks as though the frosting was applied before the cakes were properly cooled, and a lot of it has melted into a sloppy, white, crusty mess, which unfortunately reminds Remus of dried semen.

 

There is writing on the cake. Remus assumes that at some point they had attempted to write ‘Happy Birthday,’ or some variation thereof, because he can see where they scraped off previous frosting letters where the colors smear together atop it. What the cake is now, however, is a visual representation of James and Peter’s frustration, as all it says, in nearly illegible writing, is, ‘fuk u.’

 

It is the best birthday cake Remus has ever received, and he tells them so.

 

“It fucking better be,” James says, while Peter nods, looking to the cake with disdain, their suffering evident. From high up on his chair, still gesturing with a knife, Sirius clears his throat, clearly displeased that the attention is no longer on him.

 

“Yes, sorry, Sirius, you were saying?” Remus asks, grinning.

 

“I was saying,” Sirius says pointedly. “That it is Marauder birthday tradition to tragically embarrass another Marauder, all in the spirit of celebration.”

 

“Well, what’s that to do with me?” Remus asks. “Isn’t the Marauders sort of your guys’ thing? I’m not one.”

 

To Remus’ surprise, all three of the boys let out identical snorts of laughter.

 

“‘Course you are,” Peter says, as James mutters something that sounds like, “You fool,” and Sirius just shakes his head, amused.

 

“Silly, silly Remus Lupin,” Sirius says. “You are most certainly a Marauder.”

 

“Am I then?” Remus asks. “The way you guys treat it, I’d just figured there’d be some sort of induction ceremony, or, I don’t know, a list of trials I’d have to conquer before you let me in.”

 

“Consider this your induction ceremony, then,” James says. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

 

“What will make me feel best is if Sirius would stop standing on that chair with a knife,” Remus says. Sirius rolls his eyes, but gets down off his chair anyway. “Thank you,” Remus says. “Now, what exactly are you asking me to do here?”

 

“On each of our birthdays,” Sirius explains. “We are allowed to pick one fellow Marauder and have them do whatever humiliating thing we want them to do, and they’re not allowed to object.”

 

“Why?” Remus asks.

 

“Tradition,” all three boys say at the same time.

 

“Ah,” Remus says. “Well, I don’t have a particular need to embarrass any of you, nor do I know what I’d ask you to do if I did. Am I allowed to take a raincheck.”

 

“Nope,” says Peter.

 

“You gotta do it now,” says James.

 

“Or, if you forfeit your privileges, we reserve the right to embarrass the shit out of you at our own whim,” Sirius concludes.

 

“Right,” says Remus, glancing over to Lily, who is just shaking her head.

 

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “You’re the one who got us involved with these people. This is your fault.”

 

“So it is,” Remus agrees. “Okay, well, you have to help me out then, I’m not terribly creative. What are some past birthday humiliations you’ve had, so I can use them for inspiration.”

 

“Let’s see,” says Sirius thoughtfully. “On James’ birthday last year he had me go to our old teacher’s house and announce to her that I’ve always loved her, and that though I knew we could never be together, that I hoped she would keep me in her thoughts...All whilst wearing a wizard Halloween costume, complete with a pointy hat.”

 

“That was a good one,” James says fondly. “Oh, remember that one when we were sixteen, I think, and on your birthday you made Peter show up to the girl’s football team practice and tell them that women should really stop discriminating against men with with tiny pensies, because he has a tiny penis, and feels constantly victimized?”

 

“For the record,” Peter says defensively. “He just made me say that I had a tiny penis. Doesn’t mean I actually have one.”  
  


“I’ll take your word for it, Pete,” Remus assures him.

 

“Hahaha, then there was that one where Peter made you go on a date with that girl you really fancied, but you could only speak in questions,” Sirius says, laughing.

 

“Oh my God that was awful,” James says at the memory. “The worst part was that she actually tried to stick it out. She wouldn’t just put me out of my misery.”

 

“Really no worse than any of your other horrid dating stories, to be honest, mate,” says Sirius.

 

“Oh?” Lily asks, perking up at this. “He’s failed to mention much of his dating past.”

 

“That’s because it is 115% humiliating,” says Peter.

 

“Yeah, I will never tell you about that stuff,” James says to her. “I can’t have you thinking any less of me than you probably already do.”

 

“You will never tell me about that stuff, _unless_ Remus makes you do it for his birthday, you mean,” says Lily with a mischievous grin.

 

“I--uh,” James looks over to Remus. “I mean, I would then, but Remus would never do that to me, because we're great friends, and I made him a cake, right Remus?”

 

“The cake says ‘fuck you’ on it,” Lily points out.

 

“Yeah, but...Remus,” James says, a pleading look in his eye. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

 

“I dunno,” Remus says. “To be honest, I don’t have any other better ideas.”

 

“You could always tell Peter to call up that girl he hooked up with on Valentine’s Day and tell her he’s got crabs,” Sirius suggests. “I think Lily’s idea is funnier, though.”

 

“Me too,” Peter says quickly.

 

“Also, this could count as revenge for the fact that I’ve walked in on you two _five times_ now,” Remus says pointedly. He pretends to mull it over for a moment. “Yeah, I think that’s what I’m gonna do. James, you have to spill your entire romantic history, in full detail, right here, while we eat this horrendous cake.”

 

“Haha!” Lily says, triumphant. She rests her chin on her hands and grins at James, waiting patiently. James looks at her, and then shoots daggers with his eyes at Remus, who merely shrugs.

 

“Yeah okay,” James says begrudgingly. “Since I have no choice.”

 

“The pact is sealed!” says Sirius dramatically, hitting the table with his fist like a mallet. “But just so you know, babe, you might have screwed yourself a little. James’ birthday is coming up here in less than three weeks, and I doubt he’s going to forget this anytime soon.”

 

\--

 

“I still think the funniest one was the one where he was with that girl for three months, and when she went to break up with him, she didn’t know his name,” Remus says. He’s lying beside Sirius on their bed, recollecting the last hour of James’ misery. “God, Lily is going to have fun with all that. I probably should have never given her so much ammo.”

 

“Eh, James is a wanker, he deserved it. Besides, that’s probably the tamest thing we’ve ever made him do, so he’ll get over it.” Sirius is drawing circles on the underside of Remus’ wrist. “Hey,” he says after a moment.

 

“Yeah?” Remus asks.

 

“Did you have an okay birthday?”

 

“I had a fantastic birthday,” Remus answers genuinely. “Probably the best I’ve ever had.” He doesn’t mention that the bar isn’t really that high. It doesn’t matter. He thinks it would probably still be the best birthday he’s had, even if his previous experiences hadn’t been total nightmares.

 

“I still haven’t given you your present,” Sirius says.

 

“Is it sex, because I might need a nap first,” says Remus, whose sick body is making the corners of his eyelids droop.

 

“No,” Sirius says smiling. “Though you can have that too, if you want. I got you something else, though. Hold on.” He gets out of bed and goes to the closet to rummage for something. He comes back with a neatly wrapped, thin, rectangular gift, and hands it to Remus as he climbs back into bed next to him.

 

“Did you wrap this yourself?” Remus asks.

 

“Yeah, why? That surprising?”

 

“I guess not,” Remus says.

 

“You forget, I was raised by uppity rich people. I may be a greasy mechanic, but my penmanship is immaculate, and I can wrap gifts like nobody’s business.”

 

“You also know what all those forks are for at fancy dinner parties.”

 

“I’ll teach you sometime,” Sirius says. “Now open it.”

 

Remus does as he’s told, although he feels a little bashful under the scrutiny. He’s never been good at receiving gifts, and he is fairly certain that Sirius is excellent at giving them. He tears at the paper, feeling bad for tearing up something that looked so immaculate, but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls out the gift and immediately feels his problem heart ache.

 

“Oh, Sirius,” he breathes. It’s a picture of the two of them--just a candid one, of the two of them on the couch, huddled up together, reading what Remus knows to be their book. The picture is in a silver frame, with the words “If it happens, then it was supposed to,” engraved along the edges.

 

“James took the picture. I told him I needed a good candid photo of the two of us, and this one was the best. Do you like it?” Sirius asks apprehensively. “I was worried it was a little self-indulgent.”

 

As a response, Remus leans over and kisses Sirius very softly, and then pulls away to admire his gift some more.

 

“I love it,” he says quietly. “I love it, and I love…” He tries to say it, he really does, but the words stick in the back of his throat like a chicken bone. Sirius searches his face, shaking his head a little.

 

“Don’t say it just because I got you something. I’m in no hurry, you can wait until you’re ready,” he says in a whisper.

 

Sirius’ unending patience makes Remus want to say it even more, but the chicken bone feeling just swells up even thicker in his esophagus. Instead he says, “I sometimes think about how I would live so much better if I were a book.”

 

“Yeah?” Sirius asks, indulging Remus, though Remus can tell he doesn’t know where he’s going with this. That’s okay. He’ll get there.

 

“Whenever I would be in hospital for a long period of time, I’d read our book, and think about how much I’d like to be it, or any story really, because books don’t get sick. They don’t have to worry about where they are on the transplant list, or whether mum has been drinking, or if dad is going to pretend like everything is okay again, when it’s not. A book’s only obligation is to be read.

 

“But even then, I didn’t want to be read by someone who read books the way I do--I read books very roughly. I wanted to be read by someone who read gently. You know why?” Sirius shakes his head, rapt with attention. “Because, people who read gently are never really invested in what they’re reading.

 

“When I first met you, I told you to take the book, because I saw that you held it roughly. I saw that you turned the pages hard, and bent the spine too far, and I knew that it was because you were the type of person who, when they read, truly got invested. And that’s the proper care a book should receive! A book is meant to be loved.

 

“And yet, still, I was afraid, or am afraid, rather, of having that same love turned on me. Because I know we can’t read each other gently. When you read a book, it becomes a part of you, and in that same vein, the book, with all its frayed edges, and wrinkled pages, and marks along the margins, takes on parts of you as well. That’s what love is, you know? Taking on parts of each other, and keeping them like scars.

 

“I know how you feel about me, and I should hope you know I feel the same, but I’m afraid. Not about taking in parts of you, but of you taking parts of me. I’m a heavy book, Sirius. I think I'm a dense one, and I don’t want...I guess I don’t want to be a burden on those who choose to read me roughly, instead of gently like they should.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment, because really, it’s hard to think of what to say after a monologue like that. Finally, Sirius just shakes his head.

 

“I love you,” he says finally, and Remus tries to look away, but Sirius puts a hand to his cheek and doesn’t let him. He looks Remus in the eye, and says it again. “I love you.”

 

“That’s a terrible idea on your part,” Remus says.

 

“Don’t care,” says Sirius. “If you think you’re any less deserving of love, just because you’ve got more on your shoulders than most, then I want to make it my life mission to convince you that you are not the type of person who should ever be read gently.” He kisses Remus on the corner of his mouth, and whispers it a third time. “I love you.”

 

This time, Remus finds just enough air around the clog in his throat to whisper it back. “I love you, too,” he says so quietly that Sirius almost misses it. But he doesn’t. He hears it, and he pulls Remus close to him and buries his face in his curls.

 

“I love you, Remus Lupin,” he says. “And happy birthday.”

 

\--

 

Months pass by faster than they ever have before. Remus finds that loving, and being loved in return, might actually be a gift rather than a burden. He starts to feel safer with the words every time he says them, like a chain is loosening around them, and he’s nearly free from his worries.

  
That is, until the very end of July, when they get the call about Frank and Alice Longbottom’s accident, and the chains pull right back up, so tight that Remus can hardly breathe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this was the most frustrating chapter to write, so i hope you enjoy it, oh my god i'm so glad it's done, i never want to look at it again
> 
> 2\. severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com, i don't even have anything witty to say, just follow me gdi
> 
> 3\. comments make my miserable little life a little less miserable. not to guilt you or anything, but like, you know, if you don't comment, you're just making my life worse, soooo
> 
> 4\. if anyone is looking for drawing recs, drawing lily and remus getting pedicures and then tagging me in it would probably make my entire existence, jsyk
> 
> 5\. sorry (not sorry) about the cliffhanger hahahahahahahaha
> 
> 6\. seriously guys, i'm so glad this chapter is done, goddamn
> 
> thank you, k byee


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sad things happen to alice and frank longbottom, remus has feelings, dramatic emails happen, and it's all entirely remus' pov bc that's just how it worked out, don't think too hard about it

Marlene is waiting for them when they get to the hospital. Remus has seen her here and there since New Year’s Eve, and she’s always looked like a punk rocker with murder on the brain, so seeing her now is startling.

 

She looks deflated, both in looks and demeanor. Her hair, which usually has a golden glow to it, is lackluster and oily. Her eyeliner, which is usually sharp enough to kill a man, is absent, making her eyes seem tired and grey. Although, it’s not just the lack of makeup making her look tired--the dark circles under her eyes suggest that she hasn’t slept for who knows how long, and she holds herself like her exhaustion is physically weighing on her shoulders. She doesn’t smile when she sees them approaching--just gives a curt little nod to acknowledge their presence, before leaning back against the lobby room wall, in her flimsy plastic chair, and rubbing at her face.

 

“What happened?” Sirius asks the second they reach her. Marlene was the one who called them--Sirius specifically--at four that morning, but her message was vague, only that Alice and Frank had been in some sort of accident, and that she’ll fill them when they got to the hospital. Remus, who had awoken when Sirius’ phone went off, helped rouse the others (including Lily, who had been sleeping over with James), and they all squeezed into Peter’s car and were off.

 

Marlene shakes her head, dropping her arms to her lap like weights are hanging from her wrists. “It was just some routine errand,” she says, and even her voice sounds drab. “I don’t think Alice even needed to go, she was just keeping Frank company. She texted me about. They were just gonna run and errand and get a late lunch. That's all.” She seems to be in a state of shock, furrowing her brow as though she still doesn't understand how she's ended up here.

 

“So, what, it was a car accident, then?” Sirius asks. He’s snappy and impatient, and Remus knows it’s because he’s nervous and anxious for information, but Marlene looks like a kicked puppy, and winces at Sirius’ directness. Remus would like to never see Marlene wince like that again. He lays a gentle hand on Sirius’ elbow as a way of telling him, ‘we all want to know what happened, calm down,’ and Sirius, understanding, glances at Remus, and then back at Marlene with an apologetic face.

 

“It wasn’t their fault,” Marlene continues. “Some arsehole, drunk at two in the goddamn afternoon, ran a light and collided with the driver’s side. The paramedics called me. I guess they couldn’t get ahold of Augusta, and I was listed in Alice’s phone as the next emergency contact.”

 

“Are they…” James asks, trailing off, bringing up the question they all want to ask.

 

“They’re alive,” says Marlene. “Or at least as far as I know. When I showed up here, they had finally gotten Frank’s mom on the phone, and they wouldn’t tell me much of anything other than they had been taken to the A&E, and that they both had sustained head injuries. Once Augusta got here, that’s when they stopped telling me anything, since I’m not next of kin or something stupid like that, I guess. So I only get updated when Frank’s mom remembers I’m here and comes down to give me updates. Last I heard, they had been transferred from the A&E, and are being treated in Intensive Care.”

 

They all take a moment to swallow this information.

 

“Where’s Mrs. Longbottom now?” asks Peter. “Why isn’t she waiting with you?”

 

“She’s probably in the ICU waiting area,” says Remus, who knows the layout of this hospital like the back of his hand. “Right?” he asks Marlene, who nods.

 

“I was up there for a while, so I could get updates faster, you know, but Augusta fucking _hates_ me, and it was just so tense that I couldn’t handle it. So I told her to let me know when she heard anything, and I came down here.”

 

When no one says anything, Remus says, “Well, we’re here with you now. If we all go up to the ICU together, it might make it less awkward for you. And then we can all get updated on Alice and Frank’s condition.”

 

“...Okay,” Marlene says after a moment. Remus holds out a hand to help her up, and gestures for the others to follow him, which they do, as though they all were wolves, and he were pack leader.

 

This, he realizes, watching his lost looking friends stand and wait for the elevator, is _his_ turf. None of them have ever spent any prolonged period of time in hospital--especially not for any actual emergency--and none of them know the protocol; none of them know how to act.

 

Remus, on the other hand, who has seen the inside of the A&E far too many times, and who smells antiseptic and sees polished tile floors in his dreams, is very calm here. Worried, certainly, but calm nonetheless, and he can feel his friends gravitating towards his put-together disposition to make up for the loss of their own. He has never fancied himself a leader, but finds he is glad his illness has some practical use.

 

“This elevator is huge,” Peter remarks when they gather inside it, and Remus finds it remarkable that this is something worth remarking on.

 

“It’s so they can transfer patients who are bedridden or on stretchers,” he explains, remembering staring at this elevator’s ceiling, or one quite like it, as he was being transferred between floors, strapped to a gurney and a portable heart monitor.

 

“Oh,” says Peter, and they all fall silent again. Remus knows his friends are thinking of Alice and Frank being carted around the hospital on stretchers, and he has little to offer by way of comfort. They probably have been, he thinks.

 

“Who’s got Neville?” he asks instead, the image of the chunky, blonde baby Alice showed him so enthusiastically months before coming to mind.

 

“Dorcas,” Marlene says bitterly with an eyeroll.

 

“Friend of ours,” Sirius explains to Remus’ confused expression. “Why Dorcas, Marlene?”

 

“Because Mary is out of town, and Augusta doesn’t trust me,” Marlene explains sourly. “She was going to just go and get him herself, and bring him to the hospital, but I pointed out that having a baby sitting around in a hospital for several hours probably wasn’t the best idea, and I offered to go pick him up from his sitter and stay with him, but she got uppity with me, so we ended up just calling Dorcas and asking if she could watch him for the night.”

 

“Mrs. Longbottom doesn’t trust you, but trusts _Dorcas_?” Sirius asks incredulously as they reach their floor and step out of the elevator.

 

“Right?” Marlene says. “She thinks I’m some crazy crackhead or something, but Dorcas parties way harder than I do. When we called her at like, six in the evening yesterday, I think she was just getting out of bed for the day.”

 

“Sorry,” Sirius says, gripping her shoulder.

 

“It’s whatever,” Marlene says, although she sounds like it’s very much more than ‘whatever.’ “I’m the kid’s fucking godmother, though, which she conveniently seems to forget. I didn’t feel like arguing, though. Besides, I’d rather stay at the hospital.”

 

“Have you been here since they first got brought in?” James asks her.

 

“Yeah,” she says, while they all follow Remus without question. “I slept for about forty minutes on one of those shitty chairs downstairs, and woke up thinking my neck was broken.”

 

“You should go and get some rest, soon,” Remus says, knowing both that he’s right, and that it’ll fall onto deaf ears. He has had his share of trying to convince his parents (and Lily) to go home for the night whenever he’s been lucid enough in the hospital to communicate, and they--or his mother at least--always ignore him.

 

“Fat chance,” Marlene mutters predictably, and Remus doesn’t press the issue.

 

Remus has never met Augusta Longbottom before, but he recognizes her the instant he sees her, just by the way Marlene speaks about her.

 

She’s a severe looking woman with a graying head of hair, seated in the far corner, wearing a blouse and a ankle-length skirt. Over top of it she has a long overcoat that looks moth eaten and has fur around the collar. Beside her feet she has a red handbag, and a dramatic hat covered in large bows and big, fake, pink roses. Her lips are pursed, and she has on reading glasses--which hang about her neck from a thin, golden chain--and she’s leafing through a large print edition of _Reader’s Digest_.

 

Remus understands why Marlene didn’t want to sit with this woman. Even without having spoken to her, Remus doesn’t particularly want to either.

 

Still, he is taken with his position as leader for once, and leads his procession over to where Augusta Longbottom is sitting. Mrs. Longbottom, hearing them approach, peers at them over the rim of her reading glasses and sucks in her cheeks.

 

“Hullo,” Remus says cordially, holding out his hand to her. “My name is Remus Lupin. You probably already know the rest of whom I’ve got with me--except for maybe Lily, she’s the ginger one just there--but in case you don’t, we’re all friends of Alice and Frank.”

 

Mrs. Longbottom regards Remus’ hand for a long moment, before briefly taking it with three of her fingers and giving it one, small shake.

 

“I don’t have any new news,” she says sharply, in lieu of a greeting. “They were both in A&E for some time, and now they have been transferred to this unit, and they are running tests. The doctors said they will let me know once they know more, and, as I told Miss McKinnon, I will relay any information they give.”

 

“Of course,” Remus says quickly. “The receptionists and nurses here always seem to give a lot of runaround to the next of kin, it must be exhausting for you. I’m really sorry about your son, Mrs. Longbottom, and your daughter-in-law. You must be very stressed, and we have no intention of exacerbating that. We just want to know what’s happening with our friends, is all, same as you. If it’s any consolation,” he adds. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time in this unit, and the doctors and nurses are above average. Alice and Frank couldn’t be in better hands.”

 

Remus can feel the smirk on Sirius’ face from behind him. Remus has always had a knack for making elderly, bitter people like him. After his second surgery, when they allowed him little walks around the hospital, he would go visit the elderly care unit on the fifth floor. He found that old people shared his cynical and biting humour, and they bonded over it. He decides, right then and there in the ICU waiting room, never to tell Sirius this factoid about himself. It’s no secret he’s not great with his peers, but Sirius need not know that not only does he act like a grumpy old man most days, he also gets on with them quite well.

 

Mrs. Longbottom considers him carefully.

 

“You’ve spent a lot of time in this unit, you say?” she asks finally.

 

“Heart condition,” Remus says, patting his chest. “I’ve had heart failure three times, and thanks to the doctors here, I’ve popped right back.” He smiles at her kindly. “I’m sure, no matter what is going on with your son and his wife, they are doing everything they can. They always do.”

 

Mrs. Longbottom lets out a sigh, which with it comes a day’s (or, rather, night’s) worth of exhaustion and worry. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you very much, I appreciate it.”

 

“Of course,” Remus says. “Do you mind if we sit and wait with you?”

 

“Please,” Mrs. Longbottom says, gesturing to the empty seats beside her. “My husband would be here, you know, but he’s ill. It’s unwise for him to leave the house, especially for high-stress situations, so I’ve just been calling him every few hours, just to let him know that I know nothing.”

 

Remus watches as Mrs. Longbottom picks up her cellphone from inside her handbag--which is nothing but an old flip phone (Remus isn’t surprised)--and checks it for new messages. Remus can tell, by the twitching of her fingers, that it’s a nervous action, and probably she’s been doing it for hours. He suddenly feels very bad for this woman--afterall, it is her son who’s in hospital.

 

“What about Alice?” he asks her, taking the seat beside her. He’s amused as his friends follow suit and sit down in the vacant chairs, as though they had been waiting for Remus to sit before moving any muscles. “Does she have any family?”

 

“None that live nearby,” says Mrs. Longbottom. “They’ve all been called, of course, them and my brother Algie. He was going to come down, but he lives about forty minutes away, so I told him not to bother. He’s got poor eyesight, you see, I didn’t want him driving at night...Didn’t want another accident on our hand.” She lets out a short, humourless laugh, and Remus, very gently pats her on the knee.

 

“We’ll keep you company,” he says softly, and although the idea of being kept company by Alice and Frank’s notoriously rowdy and reckless friends probably doesn’t strike Mrs. Longbottom as the ideal situation, she still nods her head gratefully.

 

“Thank you,” she says, and she falls silent. Remus does as well, and because everyone else is following Remus’ lead, none of the others speak either.

 

Quietly, they wait.

 

\--

 

It is nearly half past six in the morning when the doctor finally comes to them with news.

 

Immediately, Remus knows it isn’t good news.

 

He knows by the way the doctor is holding himself, and the expression on his face. His shoulders aren’t slumped, but they aren’t pulled back or level with his neck, and while he’s looking straight ahead, he’s not holding his head up high. Doctors, Remus knows, _always_ hold their heads high, as a force of habit, from just the general confidence that comes with being a doctor, _unless_ something is wrong.

 

And his _face_. Oh, his face is a look Remus has seen so many times. It’s somber and stern, careful not to give too much away, but also certain not to give any false hope either. It’s a face, that in Remus’ experience, says, “we have to do another surgery.” It’s a face that says “we don’t know what your chances are.” It’s a face that says, “if this happens again, our only option will be transplant.”

 

He glances at this friends, and sees that they look expectant, antsy, like a dog who has been told to sit, and is waiting for his treat, and Remus realizes like a punch to the gut that they don’t know it’s bad news. Remus feels heavy in the chest, and for once it’s not because of his problem heart. His stomach flutters, nauseated, knowing that he’s about to watch people he cares about be disappointed--devastatingly so.

 

Remus hazards a glance at Mrs. Longbottom, expecting to find her sitting with the same hopeful anticipation as his friends, but instead, he finds she looks neither expectant nor hopeful. She looks, instead, like Remus feels, the corners of her mouth turned down, and her eyes dull and sad. She knows, Remus realizes, what that face means, because of course she does. A woman with not much family--with a husband sick at home--of course she knows, and when her eyes flicker over and meet Remus’ briefly, she gives him the tiniest of smiles. Because she knows that he knows too--knows the only thing to do now is to brace themselves, and hope for ‘bad’ but expect ‘worst.’

 

The doctor comes to stand before them--opens his mouth to speak. _We got the test results back_ , Remus thinks to himself.

 

“We go the test results back,” the doctor says.

 

 _Unfortunately, the results weren’t what we were hoping for_ , Remus thinks.

 

“Unfortunately,” says the doctor. “The results weren’t what we were hoping for.”

 

The air around them gets thicker, as everyone but Remus and Mrs. Longbottom processes these words. The tension around them feels almost indignant, as though the doctor has no right to approach them if it’s not with the words, ‘they’ll be just fine, don’t worry.’

 

“What does that mean?” Marlene asks, or more or less demands, crossing up her arms. She’s so tired, Remus observes, by the way it seems to take all her energy to do this one action. He notices tears well up in the corners of her eyes, because she’s tired, and because she’s _been_ tired for so many hours, waiting, only to be greeted with bad news.

 

“Both Alice and Frank sustained significant head trauma,” the doctor explains. “Frank, getting the brunt of the trauma during the accident itself, has the worst injuries.”

 

“How bad are his injuries,” Mrs. Longbottom asks quietly, calmly. Ever proper, she meets the doctor’s eye, legs crossed, arms in her lap.

 

“Right now he’s in what we call a vegetative state,” the doctor says, addressing Mrs. Longbottom directly. “Since the accident, he has woken up, but has yet to regain any true consciousness. Effectively, he is awake in name only. We ran a CT scan, and found irreparable damage in his brain. Any brain activity he has is merely biological. His internal organs are functioning on their own, and he can breathe without assistance, but he is not aware of his surroundings at all.”

 

“Will he recover?” Mrs. Longbottom asks like she’s asking if it’s raining outside.

 

“It is our belief that the vegetative state will persist, and ultimately become his permanent state of being with minimal change, Mrs. Longbottom, I’m sorry.”

 

Mrs. Longbottom nods. “And his wife?” she asks. “What of Alice?”

 

“Alice is similarly affected, in that she too has sustained irreparable damage to her brain. She, however, is conscious, and the parts of her brain that allow speech seem to be minimally affected. She has been talking to us.”

 

“So she’s okay, then?” Marlene asks quickly, latching onto this thought like a lioness on the throat of a antelope. “She’ll be okay?”

 

No, Remus realizes right away, she won’t be okay. The doctor is still wearing the face.

 

“Alice is…” the doctor searches for the words--the best way to explain something medical to a lamen. Remus detests this--prefers it when they treat him like a peer instead, even if he doesn’t always know what all the terms mean. “Alice is suffering from a traumatic brain injury that will affect her cognitive and behavioral skills significantly for the rest of her life,” he says finally. “At this time, it’s difficult to assess how severely or in what ways she will be affected, but it is likely that she will require long-term, perhaps even indefinite, care.”

 

“But you said she was speaking,” Sirius says. “She was talking to you, you said so.”

 

The doctor nods. “She’s speaking, but her ability to hold competent conversations has been hindered drastically. Her vocabulary and depth of understanding is comparable to that of a child’s. She’s been informed about her husband’s condition, but doesn’t seem to have the capability to grasp it. She regularly forgets where she is, or even who she is. Again, some of these issues may resolve themselves with time and treatment, but at least some damage will remain for the rest of her life.”

 

The seven of them are silent, taking in all this information like a fish takes a hook to the mouth.

 

“Can we see them?” Marlene asks finally.

 

The doctor nods. “We’re going to be transferring them to a different ward,” he says. “They will both go to the neurology unit, although Frank will likely be moved to long-term care soon. Alice’s condition needs to be further assessed before making any judgements past neurology. If you’d like to see them before we make the transfer, you may. They are down the hall, through the double glass doors.”

 

No one moves for a moment, until Mrs. Longbottom stands, placing her hat back atop her head and holding her handbag from the crook of her elbow. Remus is glad--he was fine being the leader earlier, before they knew anything concrete, but now he finds he would like to be a lost follower like his friends. He is, afterall, more used to being the sick one, than visiting the sick.

 

And so they follow Mrs. Longbottom down the ICU hall, through the glass doors. There are the quiet sounds of the hospital murmuring all around them. There are faint beeps from monitors measuring heartbeats and blood pressures and oxygen levels. There are the shuffles of nurses’ feet as they go from patient to patient, taking vitals and administering medication. The receptionist nurse’s papers shuffle on her desk, and she clicks her pen as she looks at the group of them with hollowed cheeks. Remus knows they are about to be reprimanded for being such a large group.

 

“We were told by the doctor that we could see Frank and Alice Longbottom before they were transferred out of the ICU,” he says over Mrs. Longbottom’s shoulder before the receptionist nurse can say anything. She gives him a once over.

 

“I know you,” she says to him.

 

“Probably,” Remus agrees. He doesn’t think this nurse has ever worked with him directly--he makes an effort to remember and appreciate all his personal nurses--but she looks familiar, and if she’s worked the ICU for a while, she’s definitely seen him. “I’ve been in the ICU a few times with a heart condition. Can we see Frank and Alice?”

 

“You said the doctor permitted it?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” he says.

 

“Well...Okay, s’long as you are quick about it. I’m not supposed to let big groups into the ICU at once.”

 

“I know. Don’t worry, I know the rules, we’ll behave,” Remus says. “Thank you,” he adds. The nurse nods and Mrs. Longbottom regains control over the group, leading them deeper into the ICU.

 

Remus has always hated his stays in the ICU. He even prefers the A&E over intensive care, because at least there he’s usually distracted by whatever it is that has him in the A&E to begin with. In the ICU, there are no rooms, but rather wall separators and curtains around the beds. He always feels like he’s on display when he’s here, with anyone who walks by being able to see him in his hospital gown.

 

It doesn’t take long to spot Frank. He’s in the bed nearest to the doors. Mrs. Longbottom spots him immediately and goes right up to him, taking his hand in hers the second she’s within reach. Her face betrays nothing, but as Remus comes up behind her, he can see the tension in her shoulders.

 

Frank, on the other hand, looks as calm as leaves on a windless day. There is a bandage wrapped around his head, and small cuts on his cheeks, but he looks absolutely painless. Possibly, Remus realizes, because he doesn’t feel pain anymore. He doesn’t know if people in vegetative states can feel pain or not, and it doesn’t feel appropriate to ask.

 

He’d almost think Frank were asleep, except that his eyes are open. Remus has never in his life seen eyes that look as sightless as Frank’s. They stare out in front of him, but it’s clear they don’t process anything they see--they might as well be closed. Every so often they blink. Every so often, Frank’s lips move, or his head tilts a little to the side, but none of it is with purpose. Remus feels guilty for the association, but to him, Frank looks like a body with no soul.

 

If any part of Frank still exists in there, he thinks, then God help him.

 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, but he’s torn away from this morbid sight by Marlene whispering, “ _Alice_.”

 

Marlene, looking on the opposite side of the wall separator, has found Alice. The others move to go see her. Remus hesitates, hanging over Mrs. Longbottom’s shoulder, but she doesn’t tear her eyes off of her son. He understands, pats her gently on the shoulder, and follows the others.

 

Alice is curled up on her bed, looking impossibly small. She’s awake, bandaged around the head like her husband, and regards them all with a blank expression.

 

“Alice?” Marlene asks. “Alice, it’s Marlene.”

 

If Alice recognizes her, she does nothing to indicate it. She looks at her, but her expression doesn’t change.

 

“Frank’s making us late for lunch,” she says instead.

 

“What, sweetheart?” asks Marlene.

 

“Frank says we’re running an errand and we’ll get lunch but he’s late.”

 

“Alice, do you know you’re in hospital?” Sirius asks. Remus isn’t sure he should be that direct, but also doesn’t really know what a better alternative is, so he doesn’t say anything.

 

Alice’s blank eyes find Sirius. “We’ll be late,” Alice just says again. “He’s says we’re running an errand and getting lunch, but he’s _late_.” She then, very suddenly, curls into an even tighter ball on her bed and starts screaming Frank’s name on the top of her lungs over and over again. All six of them startle, and look to one another, not sure what to do.

 

A nurse runs over. Remus knows this one by name. Her name is Pomfrey, and she works several wards. She’s strict, but straightforward, and is Remus’ favorite out of all his nurses. She shoulders past them, and injects something into Alice’s IV. Moments later, her voice trails off, and her rigid body sort of collapses into a useless pile on the bed, and Remus knows she’s been given a sedative.

 

“That wasn’t your fault,” Pomfrey says, turning to them. “She’s very temperamental, it’s been happening off and on all night, into this morning. But you need to leave this ward now. She’s going to rest now, you can visit her again when they transfer her to neurology.” She says all of this very matter-of-factly while checking Alice’s pulse. “Lupin,” she says, and Remus startles at being addressed directly. “Take your friends back to the waiting room, please. It’s good to see you not in one of these beds,” she adds, before shouldering around them once again, attending to whomever she was with before.

 

“Come on,” Remus says. Half of his friends are watching where Nurse Pomfrey went off to, and the other half are staring at Alice. “Come on, let’s let her rest.”

 

He takes the lead once again, and leads them out of the ICU.

 

\--

 

“How are you doing?” Sirius asks into the crook of Remus’ neck. “You’ve barely said a single word since we got home.” They are laying in bed, pretending like they’re trying to sleep, but they both know it won’t happen, at least not for hours. Not with the images of Alice and Frank in the ICU burned into their skulls like brandings.

 

“Dunno,” Remus says honestly. His mind, usually so quick to analyze and categorize every experience into very specific feelings seems to be malfunctioning. “I feel weird.”

 

“Me too,” Sirius says, absently rubbing his hand up and down Remus’ bare arm. The touch is almost overwhelming, almost detestable, and he’s not quite sure where this sensory overload is coming from. He doesn’t want to yank his arm away and give Sirius the wrong idea, so instead he turns over on his other side to face him, keeping a little bit of distance between them.

 

“Are you okay, though?” Remus asks him. “I mean, you know them better than me. I’m sorry, I’m probably being selfish, acting all dramatic, when they’re your friends. Or, better friends than they are mine, at least.”

 

“Shush,” Sirius says, reaching up to push a strand of Remus’ hair behind his ear. Remus doesn’t mean to, but he winces at the touch, and hopes Sirius doesn’t notice, but he does. He immediately pulls his hand away. “Okay?” he asks.

 

“Fine,” Remus says. “Sorry, it’s not you. It’s just...I feel weird,” he says again. “It’s not you, I promise, just everything feels a little bit overwhelming right now.”

 

“Okay,” Sirius says, and he doesn’t try to touch Remus again, but Remus knows he’s disappointed. In the same way Remus is shying away from touch, Sirius is craving it. He is, afterall, a very physically emotional person. Remus feels guilty.

 

“You didn’t answer the question,” he says. Sirius gives an awkward one-armed shrug.

 

“I mean, I’m sad,” he says. “This is a sad situation.”

 

It seems both like an understatement, and like the best summation of things that Remus can think of. Still, it doesn’t sit right. Nothing is sitting right, like something in his gut is off-center, and he can’t put his finger on what it is.

 

“Yeah,” is all he can think to say, and even that feels like it comes out of his mouth lopsided. Anxiety nips at his fingers and toes, and he suddenly doesn’t want to lie still anymore. “I think I need to go walk around for a bit,” he says to Sirius.

 

“Oh,” Sirius says, surprised. “It’s kind of late, are you sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Remus says, already half out of the bed. He looks at Sirius, who looks confused at the sudden loss of Remus’ body beside him. Feeling guilty at leaving his mourning boyfriend alone, he leans over and kisses Sirius for a long moment. It feels uncomfortable, like every part of his body is trying to reject the touch, but when he pulls away and sees Sirius looking a little relieved, he’s okay with the sacrifice. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and barely waits for Sirius’ reply before he’s out of the room, and headed for the front door.

 

\--

 

Two weeks later, Remus and Sirius go and visit Alice in her rehabilitation room at the hospital in the neurology unit.

 

Marlene is there. Marlene, when she isn’t at work, is almost always with Alice. So far, Alice is yet to recognize her face.

 

Frank was moved to long-term care over a week ago, and his situation hasn’t improved. In all honesty, neither has Alice’s, but Marlene is insistent that it has.

 

“She has hardly broken down at all the past couple days,” she explains to them after Sirius asks how she’s doing. “And she’s not as fixated on the lunch thing anymore. She talks about other things now, too.”

 

Those ‘other things’ end up including saying “yuck,” to her meals, and upending her trays onto the floor, and throwing tremendous fits about medication whenever the nurses try to give it to her. Remus and Sirius say nothing, of course, for Marlene’s sake.

 

Today, Remus and Sirius’ visit coincides with Mrs. Longbottom bringing Neville to see his mother.

 

Apparently, shortly after it became clear that neither Frank nor Alice were in any condition to care for a child, Marlene got furious when Mrs. Longbottom refused to let Marlene take Neville in with her. Mrs. Longbottom was in the right, of course, as Marlene was in no condition--emotionally or financially--to care for a one year old, but Marlene toted her “godmother rights” to whoever would listen. Her friends, though secretly on Mrs. Longbottom’s side, sympathized with Marlene. Alice was Marlene’s best friend, and refusing her Neville must have felt like taking the last bit of Alice away from her.

 

Eventually, Mrs. Longbottom and Marlene came to an agreement--Marlene could see Neville whenever she wanted, and was allowed to have him overnight twice a month--but neither party was thrilled with the compromise.

 

So when Mrs. Longbottom arrives, Neville in her arms, she and Marlene greet each other tersely. To her credit, Mrs. Longbottom allows Marlene to take Neville from her, and even smiles a little as Marlene tickles the little blonde boy on the neck and makes him burst out in a fit of giggles.

 

“You wanna see mummy?” Marlene asks the boy. “You wanna show her how you can walk so good?”

 

Marlene carries Neville over by Alice’s bed. “Alice, look at who came to see you, honey,” Marlene says enthusiastically. Alice, who is sitting cross-legged in bed, regards Neville with the same blank expression she gives everyone. Remus, who is sitting in the corner with Sirius, watching the interaction, suddenly feels like he’s watching a friend perform on stage, and hopes very much that it’s not a flop.

 

Neville, recognizing his mother, smiles a mostly toothless smile at her, clapping his hands together and giggling. It’s the first time Neville has seen her since the accident. Mrs. Longbottom felt that it was better to wait until some of Alice’s worst fits subsided.

 

Marlene balances Neville on his wobbly, chunky legs. “Go to mummy!” she says excitedly. “Can you show mummy how you can walk?” Neville, who just recently turned one, and is fairly new to the art of walking, takes a single step and tumbles over onto this rear end. “That’s okay, baby boy, try again.” Marlene stands him up again, and Neville finds a better balance. He takes several wobbly steps, and collides right into Alice’s bed.

 

“Yay Neville!” Marlene says, clapping, and Remus and Sirius join in. “Alice, do you see who came to see you? He walked right to you, he missed you.”

 

Alice stares at the baby clinging to the side of her bed. He does a grabby hand towards her. Alice tilts her head, like maybe, somewhere in the back of her head there’s a part of her that recognizes him.

 

“That’s your son, Alice,” Mrs. Longbottom says stiffly. “Do you want to say hello to your son?”

 

Alice blinks at the baby, then turns over to the table beside her hospital bed. She picks up a wrapper, left from a cookie she ate with her lunch earlier. She places the wrapper in the baby’s grabby hand, who takes it and immediately puts it in his mouth.

 

Marlene beams at the action, but Mrs. Longbottom looks less than amused. “Oh for goodness sake’s,” she says, walking over briskly and scooping Neville up into her arms. “Just what we need, for the boy to choke on a piece of garbage,” she says, snatching the wrapper out of Neville’s tiny hand.

 

Indignant at the loss of his new toy, Neville immediately begins to cry, loud and raucous sobs.

 

“Shush now, Neville,” Mrs. Longbottom says over the baby’s screams. “We don’t behave that way.”

 

But Neville, clearly hurt, continues to wail like he’s suffered a great injustice.

 

“Stop!” Alice yells from her bed, covering her ears. “Shut up!” she shouts. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She clamps her eyes together tight and keeps screaming the words on repeat. Her fit only makes Neville’s worse, and Mrs. Longbottom shakes her head as though she expected this. She turns to leave.

 

“Where are you going?” Marlene demands.

 

“She’s not ready for this,” Mrs. Longbottom says simply, standing at the open door.

 

“She recognized him,” Marlene counters. “Didn’t you see that? Why do you think she gave him that?”

 

“This?” Mrs. Longbottom says, holding up the wrapper in the arm that isn’t struggling against the screaming baby. “If the best she can do right now is give her child pieces of garbage, I say she isn’t ready.” She drops the wrapper in a bin next to the door.

 

“That’s the most recognition she’s show anyone since the accident, and you’re just going to take him away?” Marlene yells at Mrs. Longbottom, and Mrs. Longbottom rolls her eyes.

 

“Look at this child,” she says, nodding to the baby sobbing into her shoulder. “I know you’re worried about Alice, but does this look good for him? There is a reason you’re not his guardian, Miss McKinnon. Now, we’ll wait some more, talk to the doctor’s, and reassess. Until then, I’m keeping Neville away.”

 

She doesn’t wait for Marlene’s inevitable rebuttal. She takes Neville from the room and all but slams the door behind her.

 

“Heinous bitch,” Marlene mutters, going over to the bin by the door and picking the wrapper out of it. She pockets it, and gives Remus and Sirius a look, as though daring them to say something about it. Remus doesn’t know about Sirius, but he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted to talk less.

 

“Come on, Alice,” Marlene says, turning to Alice, who has stopped screaming, but who is hunched over, ears still covered, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.”

 

Remus and Sirius exchange a glance and wordlessly stand to leave. They’re halfway out of the door before Remus looks over at Marlene. Her expression is such a strange mix of sadness, mixed with determination, mixed with defeat.

 

That, Remus realizes, is what it means to love a sick person.

 

Suddenly, all his sloppy, lopsided feelings he’s been having since the day of the accident slide into place. It’s not Alice and Frank that are doing this to him, but rather what Alice and Frank are reflecting back at him.

 

And if they are his reflection, then is Marlene Sirius’? She hasn’t looked like herself in weeks. She’s paler, dull. Is this what Remus is doing to Sirius? Loving unconditionally is such a sweet concept in theory, but if this it in practice...then what, exactly?

 

“You coming?” Sirius whispers.

 

“Yeah,” Remus says, turning away from Marlene and leaving the hospital room as fast as his sick-- _oh so very sick_ \--body lets him go.

 

\--

 

“I’m gonna go out walking for a while,” Remus tells Sirius curtly.

 

“Again?” he asks, looking up from the mechanical journal he’d been leafing through.

 

“Yeah, helps clear the head,” Remus says absently, pulling on his shoes. He can feel Sirius’ gaze on him. “Really,” he says, trying to reassure him, though he’s pretty sure his trembling knees may be a giveaway that he’s a little high strung.

 

“Okay,” says Sirius slowly. “It’s just...If something’s bothering you, or if, I dunno, the Alice and Frank thing is fucking you up, just…you know you an talk to me about it, right?”

 

“I know,” Remus says, and says nothing else. He hears Sirius sigh.

 

“You’ve slept on the couch the past four nights,” he says.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus says, shrugging on a rain jacket. “It’s not you.”

 

Sirius is chewing at his bottom lip, regarding Remus like he’s afraid he’s a flight risk. “Did you take your meds?” he says.

 

Remus gives Sirius a severe look, because honestly? That was the worst thing he could have said. He doesn’t know that, of course, but he makes a point of popping his meds in front of Sirius, and makes a point of making sure he _doesn’t_ notice him pocketing the rest.

 

“You going to be out late?” Sirius asks.

 

“Dunno,” Remus says, body itching all over as though it may combust if he stays between these walls any longer; if he has to look at Sirius’ hurt face any longer.

 

“I love you?” Sirius offers, and Remus deflates at this a little.

 

“Love you, too,” he mutters. _Too much_ , he thinks but doesn’t voice.

 

He goes out the front door without any other form of goodbye--he doesn’t think he can handle it. He tramples down the stoop, and starts his walk with brisk purpose.

 

His past walks truly have been aimless, but that was when his feelings felt confused and uncertain. Now, he knows exactly what he’s feeling, and exactly what he has to do about it. He walks. And walks. And walks some more.

 

When he reaches Lily’s apartment, he buzzes her room, and waits for her to let him up.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Lily says when he sees him. He’s sure he looks a wreck, but he can’t be arsed to care. “What the Hell happened to you?”

 

“I need to stay here for a bit. Not long enough for your landlord to know, just...just for a bit, is that okay?”

 

“‘Course it is,” Lily says. “But what’s wrong?”

 

Remus collapses onto Lily’s couch, rubbing his face and pushing his hat right off his head, letting it fall to the floor.

 

“I’m breaking up with Sirius,” he says.

 

\--

 

“You are so, so daft!” Lily is saying for the hundredth time. “That boy is the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you’re just, what? Gonna walk away?”

 

“I wish you’d stop making it sound like I have any sort of choice in the matter,” Remus mutters, legs drawn up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.

 

Lily turns on him immediately, grabbing him by the shoulders, and the sensory overload that hasn’t gone away, very much wants to shove her off his body. “That’s because you do, you daft idiot!” she yells, and yes, even that is too much for him to handle.

 

“Stop yelling,” he says quietly. “Please.”

 

“Then start making sense,” Lily says, dropping her grip and going back to pacing back and forth in front of him. “Because I’m still not getting it. Alice and Frank get into an accident, and suddenly you can’t be in a relationship with Sirius?”

 

“It’s not their accident so much as what the accident made me realize.”

 

“That, what, something tragic might happen to you and you don’t want Sirius weeping over you in hospital, right?”

 

“Not that something _might_ happen. Something _will_ happen, it’s just a matter of time. You know it, I know it. There is only one way this is going to end, Lily, the doctors were very clear about that. Transplant or death, and right now I’m so far down on the transplant list it’s laughable. And Hell, let’s say, for the sake of argument that I do get a heart. Then I have, what, an extra ten years? Maybe a couple more if I’m really, really lucky? And I’m meant to just drag Sirius along for that? How is that fair?”

 

“How is it fair for you to make decisions for him without even consulting him,” Lily counters.

 

“I’m making the decision, because I know he’ll be blinded by his emotions. I’m making the decision because I know he will more than willingly invest himself in my sickness, and I can’t do that to him. I can’t, Lily. I watched Marlene with Alice today, and I’ve never seen a person so broken. I never want to make him broken like that. It’s bad enough what I’m going to end up doing to you, I don’t need to drag anyone else into my drama.”

 

“First of all, don’t act like you’re dragging me into anything, I’m perfectly aware of what your chances are, or whatever. I know what the future holds. And I’m right here, and always will be, and that was my decision, and I think it’s irresponsible of you to deny him that choice, Remus, he's a big boy. Second of all--”

 

“No, no second of all, come on Lily, this is non-negotiable. It’s non-negotiable, and it’s hard enough without you breathing down my neck, bombarding me with rebuttals that aren’t even worth voicing, because it’s nothing I haven’t already considered.”

 

“Already considered? Please, I think you got spooked, and you got a ridiculous idea stuck in your head, and now you think it’s the only option. I mean, goddamnit, Remus, you love this guy. More than anyone else in the world, right? You love him.”

 

“Yes,” Remus agrees. “And that is exactly why I have to leave.”

 

\--

_**From** : Remus Lupin_

_**To** : Sirius Black_

_**Subject** : Forgive Me Someday, If You Can_

_Dearest Sirius,_

_I know there is no proper way to do this except in person, but I didn’t think I could do it if I had to see your face, or hear your voice (which ruled out a phone call), and you know how I feel about texting._

_I want to preface this by saying that none of this is your doing. All you have done is love me unconditionally, and I can do nothing but thank you endlessly--for your love, your protection, your patience. It’s all of those things that make what I have to say the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do._

_I know that I have been distant, and at first I didn’t know why. I knew something about Alice and Frank’s accident was getting to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. That is, until today, right before we left, and I saw Marlene’s face. The way she looked at Alice like a lost cause that she’ll never give up on; like some foolish act of futility made purely out of love._

_And it made me realize, I never want to make you do that. I never want you to look at me, knowing there’s nothing you can do, but being determined to try anyway._

_I am sick, Sirius, fatally so. Maybe not tomorrow, and maybe, even not for years, but eventually I’m going to be on that side of the hospital bed, and as much as having you at my side would lessen the pain, I could never willingly do it to you._

_I know what you’re going to say. I know you’re going to say that you don’t care; you want to be a part of it, no matter how much it might hurt. And that is precisely why I’m making the decision for you._

_We cannot be together._

_It is truly that simple._

_It’s like I said, like taking on other people like scars. I need to leave before the scars get so deep that they’ll never fade._

_I know you can find love again, Sirius, and you have my blessing. Find someone to love who isn’t guaranteed to break your heart, because I can’t make a promise like that. In fact, all I can do is assure you that, if we stay together, I most certainly will._

_That’s it, I suppose. I thought you an inevitability, but maybe this is what really was inevitable. Lily will be by to pick up my things. I’m sorry, but I can’t face you. It’s better for both of us if it’s cold turkey. No muddy middle grounds--the cleaner the break, the easier the heal._

_Love until my dying day, as soon, or as fa,r as that may be,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

 

\--

 

_**To** : Remus Lupin_

_**From** : Sirius Black_

_**Subject** : have you lost your fucking mind??_

_Remus, no, I don’t accept any of that. Not one word of it. Come home and talk to me, like, now. Stop ignoring my calls. You’re being paranoid, this is fixable, we just need to talk._

_I love you, but you’re an idiot,_

_Sirius “the big and” Black_

 

\--

_**To** : Sirius Black_

_**From** : Remus Lupin_

_**Subject** : I am Truly Sorry_

_I’ve made my decision. Lily will be by tomorrow after you get off work._

_I’m sorry. So sorry. Sorry sorry sorry._

_Love,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

 

\--

_**To** : Remus Lupin_

_**From** : Sirius Black_

_**Subject** : goddamnit remus stop this now_

_Subject says it all. Lily was here and took all your shit, and the whole time she apologized to me, telling me you’re the biggest fool she knows, and I’m forced to agree. Please stop this. Please come home._

 

_You want to avoid breaking my heart, and your way of doing that is breaking up with me over email? Honestly, what the fuck??_

_Love you, but I’m annoyed as shit, stop this, please and thank you,_

_Sirius “the big and” Black_

 

\--

_**To** : Sirius Black_

_**From** : Remus Lupin_

_**Subject** : This is it_

_This is going to be my last correspondence. Things are going to get muddy if we keep this up._

_Think about it, Sirius. If this hurts (which, I know, it does for me too, okay, it does), imagine how it will feel when you’re at my deathbed. Imagine having to sit next to me and watch my body give out. Not when we’re old and grown, mind you, but when we’re both supposed to be in our prime. When we’re supposed to be starting our lives, mine will be ending, and I promise you, that will hurt worse than this._

_This kind of heartbreak is something you can bounce back from, love, but I refuse to give you the kind that will leave you broken._

_I love you, always and forever, and that’s why we can’t be together._

_Someday, you’ll understand._

_Remus J. Lupin_

\--

 

“When will you back?” Remus’ mother asks from her half-comatose state on the living room couch. She looks to him with one eye half lidded, and the other unfocused.

 

“Eventually,” Remus says bitterly, wrapping himself in a raincoat and stumbling out the front door. He forgot how terrible it was living at home, until he had time away. Now that he’s back, he feels like he’s dying inside--well, more than usual.

 

He hasn’t seen or spoken to Sirius for three weeks. He's blocked his number and his email. Lily couldn’t house him forever, and besides, James was over all the time, and it was unbearably awkward. Going back to his parents’ became the only option, so he’s ringing in October with a healthy dose of cynicism and depression.

 

He walks to the bookshop, the only place in town that can elicit any emotion from him aside from sorrow and anger.

 

Sirius being gone from his life feels like a constant, open wound, and no matter what, he can’t make the bleeding stop. He goes inside the shop, hoping to at least drown it out--using books like morphine.

 

Pince greets him, and he hardly gives her even a grunt. He starts scanning the shelves, looking for nothing, just wanting to soak in the scent of aging paper and ink. He'd like, very much, to drown in it. 

 

He finds himself in the fiction section, in the latter half of the alphabet, painfully aware of the last time he was here. He looks, but there are no extra copies of Eugene Washburn’s book. He’s disappointed, but not surprised. He had resisted buying a new copy online because he had reveled in sharing the singular copy with Sirius, but now he can’t do that. He can't, and yet all he wants in the world right now is to read that damned book.

 

That’s a lie.

 

All he wants in the word right now is to wrap himself in Sirius’ arms, tell him he’s sorry, would he please take him back?

 

The thing is, of course he would, in an instant, which is exactly why he can't. Lily tells him that Remus is all Sirius talks about whenever she goes round to see James--that Sirius is constantly formulating ways to get him to come to his senses and come back to him.

 

Part of Remus is glad that Sirius hasn’t moved on yet--as quickly as their love affair started, it worried him that it could become nothing but a memory just as quickly, at least to Sirius (Remus doesn't expect he'll forget it any time soon)--but a stronger part of him is furious. He's furious that Sirius can’t accept his reasoning--can’t see that he’s right; that it’s for his own goddamned good.

 

Remus leans against the bookshelf, letting out a grunt of pain. Thinking about Sirius is making his chest hurt. He tries to divert his attention, but the throbbing in his heart only grows.

 

In fact, it’s getting worse. He starts to feel the pain snaking its way all the way down his left arm. He takes in a shaky breath, and finds that very little oxygen comes to him. Now his lungs are burning--isn’t that strange, Remus thinks, realizing that, perhaps, this has nothing to do with Sirius afterall.

 

He tries to breathe again, but every part of his upper body feels like it’s being squeezed through a tube. And his chest--god his chest _hurts_.

 

He knows what this is now. Of course he does, it’s the fourth time it has happened, he's used to it by now. He is concerned, not because his heart is failing, but because he is seemingly _unconcerned_ about it. His heart dying before him, feels no more significant than a pesky fly buzzing about his ears.

 

 _Huh_ , he thinks, as he grips at the stabbing pain radiating through him. He holds onto the books in front of him to keep his balance, but he knows he’s about to go down. His eyes are starting to do that tunneling thing they do, and that’s always what happens right before he goes down.

 

Predictably, his knees give way, and he collapses onto the floor, bringing part of the latter half of the alphabet with him.

 

The noise of the books, and himself, falling to the ground causes a commotion. He hears people running towards him. He hears shouts of, “Sir, are you alright?” He has no breath, nor will, to answer.

 

Instead, he lays in a heap on the floor, books all around him, and a few on top of him. He thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, he let Sirius go at the perfect time.

 

On the floor of a bookshop, right where Eugene Washburn would be, if he were there--couldn’t ask for a better place to go, honestly, Remus thinks to himself. He has died in worse places, anyway. He feels he is almost blissful at the thought.

  
And then he blacks out, his fate no longer in his hands.

 

**END OF PART 1**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> 2\. ok, sorry, i've been working on this literally straight through for like, 8 and a half hours, and including editing, probably like 10 hours total, and i'm sort of dead inside (hit 50,000 words, tho, that's cool)
> 
> 3\. sorry! so sorry! this chapter it a bit of a shock, i'm sure, compared to where we left of in chapter 7
> 
> 4\. the "end of part 1" is kind of for my benefit, because it helps me delineate some stuff. just consider it an artistic choice, and don't worry too hard about it
> 
> 5\. THINGS ARE GETTIN' GOOD NOW. tho i do feel i should mention that the rest of the story is going to be very sickness oriented, so if you are more the "fluff and minimal conflict" type of person, maybe stop reading, and just go and reread what i've already written, bc things are taking a turn from here on out
> 
> 6\. you know my tumblr url by now, i don't need to shamelessly plug myself, pshaw (severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com)
> 
> 7\. THANK YOU FOR READING YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i fumble my way through hospital jargon i only sort of know as a pre-nursing student, and also remus and sirius do some stuff

Sirius is depressed.

 

He alternates between eating nothing for days, and eating everything in one big binge while watching Netflix in his bed.

 

His bed still smells like Remus, which is infuriating. Sirius didn’t even realize Remus had a smell, until that smell was all that was left of him.

 

(If he were asked to describe it, which of course he never would be, he would say it’s a scent that smells strongly of fabric softener, deodorant, and some other mild bit that smells a little bitter and sweet, which might very possibly be chocolate.)

 

For the first week after Remus left, his friends said very little, knowing he needed space to process the loss, for which Sirius was grateful. However, after the fourth straight day of Sirius not showering, and him responding to James’ invites to go out drinking with a, “What’s the point? What’s the point of anything?” James and Peter decided they had to intervene.

 

Peter, drawing the short straw, was assigned Sirius Hygiene Duty, which included such tasks as making sure Sirius showered, at the very least, every other day, and not allowing him to eat Oreos he found in his bedsheets from days prior.

 

James took charge of Sirius’ social activity, making sure he was hardly ever alone. He dragged Sirius with him downtown three times a week, and demanded he move his ten hour long Netflix sessions to the living room, so that, in James’ words, “we can make sure you’ve not drowned yourself in tears and _Gilmore Girls_.”

 

James’ frankness and tough-love attitude comes from a place of caring, Sirius knows, but he also thinks maybe James is underestimating how severe the situation really is.

 

Because although he’d never admit it, Remus leaving feels like what Sirius figures sawing your own arm off might feel like--it’s like a crucial part of him has been ripped from him, and he’s bleeding from the wound.

 

He doesn’t have much to compare it to, so maybe it’s a melodramatic claim, but he thinks this isn’t an ordinary breakup. It’s not one where he can eat a few pints of ice cream and eat Nutella from the jar with a spoon with Celine Dion on repeat in the background for a few days, and then just come out of it okay. It’s not even a breakup like in films or songs, where they dwell for months, waxing poetic about ‘the one that got away.’

 

No, this breakup cuts so deep that there is actual, visceral, physical pain attached. Sirius hurts, literally. His bones ache, his stomach is in a constant state of indigestion, and he can’t remember a day since Remus left where he didn’t have a headache. The stress of losing Remus is manifesting itself as honest-to-God illness, and Sirius is tired, figuratively and literally, and he is depressed.

 

Honestly, it makes sense when you think about it. People breakup when they drift apart. They break up when there’s a rift or a violation, or when their feelings just aren’t the same anymore. People aren’t supposed to breakup, Sirius figures, when they’re still madly in love.

 

So Sirius hurts, and the only thing he can do to distract himself is work, and so he does. He immerses himself so deeply in his job that his boss has to pull him into his office and tell him he’s legally required to take his lunch breaks, and if he logs any more hours he’ll be in super-overtime, and they don’t have the money for that, so, “why don’t you just work the hours you’re scheduled to work, alright?”

 

Sirius isn’t even particularly taken with his job. It’s alright, he supposes, as far as jobs go. He’s never dreaded going, at least, but it’s just a job. People bring him malfunctioning vehicles, and he fixes them, and then he goes home. It’s simple. But he finds it takes a lot of concentration, and when he’s concentrating on fixing a leaky radiator, he’s not concentrating on how Remus won’t be waiting for him when he gets home.

 

So when James comes looking for him at the shop that afternoon, he doesn’t notice him at first. He’s halfway underneath a car, tinkering with some parts, when he feels someone kick his leg where it’s sticking out. He slides back out, squinting up in the sudden brightness, and sees James standing over him.

 

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” he says, as Sirius gets up and brushes his greasy hands off on his uniform.

 

“Sorry, I’ve been doing this thing where I receive money in exchange for my services,” Sirius says bitterly, not knowing why James is there, but figuring he’s probably checking up on him. Again. “They don’t much like paying me to text, you see.”

 

“Dude,” James says, but he doesn’t sound defensive. If anything, he sounds sorrowful. This is the first red flag. James isn’t one to let Sirius give him attitude.

 

“What’s up?” Sirius asks in spite of himself, putting his hands in his pocket and regarding his friend. James is chewing at his bottom lip and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Something is wrong, Sirius realizes, and the knot in his gut that was already there--that’s always there nowadays--gets tighter.

 

“I wasn’t the one trying to call you,” James explains. “It was Lily.”

 

“Why was Lily trying to call me?” Sirius asks before his brain can catch up with his mouth. _Remus_ , he understands an instant later. Lily would only be trying to get a hold of him if there was something wrong with Remus. “What happened?” he asks.

 

“Look,” says James, crossing up his arms and sighing heavily. “I wasn’t going to--I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to even tell you, but Lily said it would be cruel not to.”

 

“Tell me _what_?” Sirius asks, a bitter taste gathering at the back of his throat. “This is something about Remus, isn’t it? Something happened to Remus? Is he okay?” At this, James just takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “ _Damnit_ , James, tell me what happened,” says Sirius angrily.

 

James runs his hand through his hair, ruffling his the already messy mop atop his head. “His heart stopped,” he says finally.

 

Sirius falters, his own heart skipping a beat. He tries to reply, but all that comes out of his mouth is empty air. He takes a moment, tries again, and musters up a small, “What?”

 

“I don’t know a lot of the details,” James explains. “Lily just called me about an hour ago and told me she that Remus’ parents had gotten ahold of her and that Remus apparently had, like, heart failure or something last night while he was out at a bookstore.”

 

“Did he…?” Sirius asks. “Is he…?”

 

“He’s alive,” James says quickly. Sirius thinks he probably should have led with that, but doesn’t voice it. “He’s alive, but I guess it’s...I don’t know, man, I think it’s pretty bad.”

 

Sirius regards James for approximately two seconds, before turning on his heel and heading away from the shop, towards his motorcycle. James, of course, runs after him.

 

“Dude, dude, wait,” he says, running up beside him as Sirius walks briskly. “Where are you going?”

 

“Hospital,” Sirius grunts.

 

“Wait,” James says. Sirius ignores him. “Dude, wait just a second,” but Sirius keeps walking. Finally, James just grabs Sirius by the arm and forces him to a stop. Sirius tries to pull away, but James is strong.

 

“ _What_?” Sirius asks impatiently, thoughts racing. Or not so much ‘thoughts,’ but rather, a single thought racing through his mind: _Remus, Remus, Remus_.

 

“This is why I was worried about telling you. What are you going to do? Just storm into the hospital? You don’t know where he is. You don’t know what his condition is--”

 

“I’m sure Lily does,” Sirius interrupts, reaching into his pocket and turning his phone off silent. He has nine missed calls.

 

“Okay, sure, okay, you can figure all that out, But…” James shakes his head.

 

“But what, James?”

 

James sighs. “It’s just...you and him, you aren’t together anymore.”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Sirius says, turning away, ripping his arm from James’ loosened grip.

 

“No, no, wait, that’s not, I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t still care about him, okay, damnit just _wait_.”

 

Sirius, in spite himself, stops a few feet away and turns to look at his friend. He throws up his hands. “I’m waiting. What is it?” he asks sharply.

 

“I know you still love him,” James says slowly, as though calculating the best way to say what he has to say. “And I’m sure he still loves you, but it’s just… isn’t this why he broke up with you? So you wouldn’t see him like this, all sick and stuff? I just think that maybe you should consider that he…” James grimaces. “That maybe he doesn’t want you there.”

 

Sirius does take a moment to consider this. James is right, this is why Remus broke up with him--Sirius watching him be sick was exactly what terrified him most. Sirius knows this. He also knows that it doesn’t matter at all. In fact, he doesn’t think anything has ever mattered less in the history of the world.

 

He doesn’t say this, however. Instead he asks, “What if it were Lily?”

 

“What?” James says.

 

“What if Lily broke up with you, because she was afraid she was gonna be sick, and then she did get sick? What would you do?”

 

James stares at Sirius blankly for a moment.

 

“I’d go see her immediately,” he finally says.

 

He gives Sirius a nod, which he knows means assent, and Sirius is on his bike and on the road to the hospital before two minutes pass.

 

\---

 

Meeting Lily in the hospital is uncomfortably reminiscent of Frank and Alice’s accident, but still it’s not the same. Everything _looks_ the same, but feels different. This visit to the hospital is charged with something new--with Alice and Frank Sirius was worried, but whatever he’s feeling now has transcended worry. He doesn’t have the words for it. He just knows that his insides have all turned to liquid and he can feel adrenaline all the way into his bones. He knows this place, but it’s like he knows it from another time, another dimension even, and he’s not sure what to do with himself.

 

Lily is sitting with two people Sirius assumes are Remus’ parents. Lyall Lupin is a gangly man with long limbs and subble on his chin. He wears wire frame glasses and has Remus’ nose. Hope Lupin is pale--milky skin that looks smooth to the touch. She has the same sort of loose curls as Remus does, but they are longer and they come in a shade of dirty blonde. She has a beauty mark under her left nostril, and although she is right in Sirius’ line of vision, she seems very far away. Sirius thinks she could pass very easily as a ghost.

 

Sirius is reluctant to approach. He’s not sure what Remus’ parents know about him--Remus had eventually told them he was living with Sirius and his friends, but whether or not he divulged the romantic nature their relationship is something Sirius does not know.

 

He is thankfully saved the awkwardness of approaching unannounced, as Lily spots him and is immediately on her feet. She says something to Remus’ parents, and leaves them to come greet him. Seeing her, Sirius is reminded of how Marlene looked when they were waiting to hear about Alice and Frank--lackluster and exhausted. It’s clear that she’s been crying. Sirius opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get any words out, Lily envelopes him in a tight hug, resting her face against his shoulder, and sighing. When she doesn’t let go, Sirius puts one arm around her back and holds her there gently.

 

“James called to tell me you were coming,” she says into his shirt. “I’m really glad you’re here. I mean, I didn’t think...I mean, I was sure you’d show up in spite of everything going on between you two.”

 

“‘Course I’m here,” Sirius mutters to the top of Lily’s head. She lets out a humourless laugh, before finally pulling away and givng him a tight lipped smile.

 

“He’s alive,” she says before Sirius can say anything. “It was sort of touch and go for a bit, though, I guess. They had a hard time resuscitating him. The doctor said he was legally dead for six minutes, but doesn’t think there was any brain damage or anything, you know from like, lack of oxygen or whatever,” Lily is rambling, but Sirius doesn’t stop her, eating up every detail, with his stomach dropping lower and lower in his gut with every word. He feels a bitterness somewhere in the back of his mind that he can't exactly place, as though he’s upset that someone had the gall to leave Remus not breathing on the floor of a bookshop for six full minutes. “Some guy at the bookstore knew CPR and kept it going until the paramedics arrived, so that probably helped. Oh but Sirius,” Lily says, a sob that was probably already close to the surface catching in her throat. “I overheard two of the nurses talking about him. They were talking about Remus, and they said...oh God, they said that the paramedics almost called it. At the scene, they almost pronounced him right there.” She covers her mouth and leans against Sirius again, dropping her forehead to his chest, letting the sob in her throat loose.

 

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that--any of it. His brain feels like cold oatmeal. “Can I see him?” he asks finally. “Is he allowed visitors, can I see him?”

 

Lily shakes her head. “He’s in surgery, actually.”

 

“Surgery?” asks Sirius, wracking his brain for all the, admittedly sparse, things Remus has told him about his heart condition. “I thought after the last surgery they weren’t going to do anymore? I thought his only other option was transplant?”

 

“Transplant is still the game plan,” Lily says, nodding. “There’s a new doctor in the ward, though, who thought Remus was a good candidate to try out a--God, what was it called--a left ventricular assist device or something? Don’t ask me how it works, I barely understand it. Lyall was trying to explain it to me, but basically it’s like this, battery operated pump that keeps your heart going, or, I don’t know. Supposedly, if it works properly, it can keep Remus’ heart going while he waits for a heart to come available.”

 

“So he’s in surgery right this second getting one of these assist device things?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. All this was decided last night before I was even called. I guess Remus was conscious and functioning well enough that they asked him what he wanted to do, and he and his parents talked about the risks, and agreed to it. I don’t know, it’s all really sudden, but the doctors didn’t seem to think…” she clears her throat of what sounds like another sob on the horizon. “They didn’t seem to think his heart would hold out much longer without it.”

 

“They talked about the risks? What are the risks?”

 

Lily shrugs. “Honestly, I only know what Google told me this morning. A lot of general stuff. Infection, bleeding, stroke--lots of shitty stuff, but that’s a risk with any surgery, and Remus is a pro at surgery so I am deciding not to be too worried about that.”

 

“...Right,” is all Sirius can say, finding that he can’t do the same.

 

“After post-op they’ll transfer him to the cardiology ICU unit. That’s where he usually ends up after his surgeries,” Lily says. “We were going to head over that way after Lyall and Hope finish up some paperwork for the admission’s nurse. His surgery started at eleven, so he’s been in there for about three hours. The doctor said it could take anywhere between four and six.”

 

“Can I…?” Sirius asks. “Will they mind if I wait with you?” He nods towards Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. Lily shakes her head.

 

“‘Course not.”

 

“Do they know about me?”

 

“Only vaguely. And don’t worry, they’re not mad about Remus living with you anymore. They’re pretty passive people, honestly,” Lily says, holding her hand out to Sirius. He takes it and lets her lead him over to where Remus’ parents are sitting.

 

“Lyall, Hope, this is Sirius,” Lily says. “He’s going to wait around with us, if that’s okay?"

 

Mr. Lupin gives him a solid handshake and a gruff, “Hullo.” Mrs. Lupin smiles at him, but doesn’t say anything. She looks right at him, but Sirius gets the distinct impression that she doesn’t see him at all.

 

They don’t speak past that--not even casual, social niceties. Mr. Lupin buries his nose back into the paperwork on his lap, and Mrs. Lupin goes back to staring at nothing. Lily pats Sirius on the shoulder, and takes a seat. Feeling lost and out of place, Sirius does the same. He puts his hands on his knees and twiddles his thumbs, remember suddenly, the first time he met Remus and how taken he was when saw the way he would twiddle his thumbs while he waited.

 

He really never had a chance, Sirius now realizes. Remus had taken him from the very beginning, and there was no way he could leave now.

 

\--

 

Remus is dreaming about reading. He’s dreaming about the strange way mulligatawny soup tastes, and mornings he would wake up burrowed against Sirius’ side, warm and safe until Sirius’ alarm would go off. He can hear the alarm right now in his dream, except it doesn’t sound the same. Sirius’ alarm was harsh and grating. This alarm he’s hearing is low and rhythmic. He comes out of sleep little by little, and places the sound. He realizes, with a flush of disappointment, that it’s not an alarm at all. It’s his own vitals being filtered through a monitor. He opens an eye--then opens the other--and remembers.

 

He remembers the pain in his chest, and the fall to the ground. He remembers peace overcoming him. He remembers no longer being there to remember anything.

 

And then it all had gone black, like it had all the other times as well.

 

And just like all the other times, he remembers being forced back into life. The burn of his lungs as they filled with air, and the stinging of his chest where the defibrillator sent shocks through his body. The loss of peace--it, instead, being replaced by chaos, with paramedics surrounding him, speaking frantically to one another, a small crowd gathered behind them.

 

He remembers resentment.

 

As he comes awake, he becomes aware of his body. His right hand has IVs nestled in his veins, pumping whatever is making him feel numb and floaty into his blood. Morphine, probably. He doesn’t look long. He hates needles.

 

His chest feels heavy. It is hard to draw in breaths.

 

There is a nurse beside him, fiddling with the monitor, which displays about a hundred different numbers and noises and vital signs, and Remus couldn’t care less about any of them. She feels him watching her and turns to face him.

 

Remus recognizes her as Nurse Pomfrey, and is comforted. She is very ‘no-nonsense’ and Remus appreciates that in a nurse.

 

She smiles a tight lipped smile at him, and immediately starts touching the dressing on his surgical wound. “Everything went smoothly,” she tells him before he has a chance to say anything. “They successfully implanted the LVAD, and so far so good, your vitals are strong.” She adjusts the blankets around him. “You’ll be in the ICU for a few days, and then, if everything goes as planned, we’ll transfer you to the long-term care unit, where you’ll learn how to use the device. Meanwhile, you’re now classified as a priority transplant candidate, so assuming you’re strong enough, you’ll be notified the moment a heart becomes available, and we’ll go from there.”

 

Nurse Pomfrey stops fiddling with him and stands back, her arms crossed. “I liked seeing you better when you were here just visiting, Lupin,” she says stiffly--Remus understands that this is her being sincere. “But as always you’re in the best care. How’s your pain level? Manageable?”

 

Remus nods, not up to testing out his voice yet.

 

“Alright. Well, your parents have been out in the waiting room for hours, and I promised them I’d let them in as soon as you were awake. I just want next of kin in here right now, though. Your other two friends will have to wait until you’re a little stronger. And I don’t want your parents in here too long. You need to rest, understand?”

 

Remus nods again, but stops halfway through. “Friends?” he asks weakly, his voice scratchy and gruff.

 

“Hm?”  
  


“Which friends are in the waiting room?” he asks. It takes a lot of energy to say just a few words, and he’s so disconnected from his body at the moment, he’s not entirely convinced he’s saying them at all.

 

“Well, your one friend who’s always here after your surgery. Lily, is it? And some boy, I don’t know him. Long dark hair,” Nurse Pomfrey says, miming the length of this person’s hair by touching her shoulder. “He came in wearing a mechanic’s uniform. Sound familiar?”

 

“Yeah,” Remus says darkly. “I know who that is.”

 

“Well, don’t worry about either of them right now,” says Pomfrey with a click of her tongue. If she notices Remus’ sudden discomfort she doesn’t speak on it. “Just parents right now. Then rest, yes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Nurse Pomfrey says nothing else. She gives a curt nod and turns on her heel, presumably to go fetch Remus’ parents.

 

Remus wishes he could have a higher morphine dose, because his pain has spiked, but he has a distinct impression that it’s not the kind of pain that can be treated with drugs.

 

 _Why is Sirius here_? he asks himself with a sense of foreboding. This is, afterall, the exact sort of situation he wanted to keep him away from.

 

He knows that if he wanted to, he could tell Nurse Pomfrey, or any of the nurses, to refuse Sirius access--to tell him he doesn’t want to see him. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He _does_ want to see Sirius--he always does. That was never the issue. The issue is that he doesn’t want Sirius to see _him_. Not like this, with needles and tubes sticking out of him. He’s not self-conscious, but he knows he’s not a pretty sight, and people generally have a standard reaction to seeing their loved ones in such a state--a desire to not leave their sides at any cost--and Remus doesn’t want to do that to Sirius.

 

He thinks of Marlene, who might very well be in this hospital this minute, sitting by Alice’s side as she makes miniscule improvements, and spending all her time praying for a miracle.

 

Remus was wrong when he told Sirius he was a heavy book. He’s more like ancient scripture inscribed in solid, cumbersome stone. No one should have to carry him around with them, and yet here is Sirius, still trying to, even after Remus has done everything in his power to prevent it.

 

Remus considers his weary and weak little body, and doesn’t think he has the energy nor willpower in him to keep Sirius away--but he’s terrified of what will happen if he does see him.

 

He can only think on it for a minute. His parents come in the room and he has to put all his strength into appearing Just Fine, for their sake, even though he was literally cut open just a little while before. It isn’t fair, sure, but his father keeps giving him nervous glances, and his mother is clearly high. So yes, he’ll pretend he’s okay, just for now, and then he will sleep.

 

Sirius will have to wait, Remus figures, and he tries to put him out of his mind. He ignores the nagging at the back of his brain, as he funnels his stamina into making sure his mother does not cry.

 

\--

 

Remus’ parents went off a while ago to get some coffee in the hospital cafeteria, and Lily has draped her tiny frame across two plastic chairs and fell into a fitful nap a little while ago. Sirius keeps watching the doors to the ICU. He sees the severe-looking nurse, who earlier came up to him and Lily and told them that Remus was going to sleep undisturbed, so ‘don’t you dare think about bothering him,’ talking to the nurse at the front desk, and checking the clock. She removes the stethoscope from around her neck and scribbles something down on a clipboard.

 

A younger nurse approaches her, her perkiness looking exaggerated juxtaposed against the severe nurse’s exhaustion. The severe nurse says something Sirius can’t hear, and then heads away from the ICU, towards the elevator. She walks right past Sirius, and pays him no mind.

 

It must be a shift change, Sirius realizes, and regards the younger nurse by the doors. He mulls over his next move for approximately no seconds before he’s on his feet going up to her. She can’t be much older than him. She is pretty, a sense of naivety surrounding her, and she smiles at Sirius when he approaches.

 

“Hello,” she says. “Can I help you with something.”

 

James once claimed that Sirius could charm his way out of a murder charge, even if the body was right in front of him, and he had literal blood on his hands. When they were seventeen, he, James, and Peter attempted a prank that involved breaking into their headmaster’s backyard, and when they got caught, Sirius managed to not only get them out of almost certain expulsion, but talked Dumbledore down to just a week’s worth of detention. After that, Sirius’ knack for manipulation was regarded as a godlike skill.

 

He uses it sparingly, not wanting to spoil a good thing. He only brings it out when it really matters. The last time he can remember doing it was last December in a bookshop, when he was trying to get a strange boy in a silly hat to get coffee with him. If it was crucial then, then it is absolutely dire now. He meets the young nurse’s eye and flashes her a brilliant, toothy grin.

 

“My friend,” Sirius says to her. “He’s been in the ICU all day, and I haven’t gotten a chance to visit with him. I was wondering, would it be okay for me to go and see him? Just for a minute or two?”

 

“Who’s your friend?” the nurse asks, checking her chart of patients.

 

“Remus Lupin,” he says. “He came out of surgery mid-afternoon.”

 

“Oh yeah, Nurse Pomfrey mentioned him,” she says, putting down her chart and regarding Sirius. “Said he needed his rest.”

 

“Undoubtedly,” says Sirius. “I don’t want to bother him. If he’s sleeping I won’t wake him up or anything. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” He meets the young nurse’s doubtful look and gently adds a, “Please?”

 

He knows how to spin it. He puts enough genuine emotion behind it that the nurse’s stern expression softens. “Nurse Pomfrey said to limit his visitors to next of kin until morning,” she says.

 

“Well,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “Nurse Pomfrey isn’t on duty right now.”

 

The young nurse laughs a little at this. Sirius can tell she hasn’t been a nurse for very long. The severe nurse from before--Pomfrey--her no-nonsense attitude would never have been penetrated by Sirius’ charm, but this girl is cracking easily.

 

Remus would be able to read her completely. Sirius tries to see what he would see, remembering their Valentine’s date that feels so far away from this moment, and sees a girl who is still learning the ropes of the hospital--a girl who probably is equal parts intimidated by more experienced nurses like Pomfrey, as she is threatened. Sirius sees, as Remus would, a  girl who wants to jump at the chance at defying direct orders, while fearing the consequences if she actually does.

 

“I’ll behave myself, I promise,” Sirius adds, as the nurse crosses up her arms. “Pomfrey will be none the wiser.”

 

The young nurse chews on the inside of her cheek as she contemplates this. Sirius can feel her acquiescing. Finally, she nods and says, “Only a few minutes, okay? Then you have to come back tomorrow to see him.”

 

“Thank you,” Sirius says sincerely, gripping the young nurse’s shoulder briefly, then dashing behind her, going through the ICU doors.

 

He finds Remus easily, like a dog following a scent. Even though Sirius tried to mentally prepare himself beforehand, the sight of his Remus hooked up to what seems like a million different devices, bandages across his chest, and tubes in stuck into his skin, briefly takes his breath away.

 

Remus, whose general presence always seems to take up an entire room, seems impossibly small right now, underneath the hospital equipment.

 

Sirius is glad Remus is asleep, because he can feel his face arranging itself involuntarily into a surprised, sorrowful expression, and he doesn’t want Remus to know that he ever looked at him like that. He gains some semblance of control over himself--reminds himself that all the monitors and tubes are there to help, and that underneath all of it is just Remus, that’s all--and goes over and pulls a chair quietly over to sit beside him. He’s not sure how long he can get away with sitting here, but he’s going to milk every second he’s got.

 

Remus is sleeping, but it isn’t the sleeping face Sirius is used to. Back when they were together--which is still a turn of phrase Sirius hates to think--Sirius would often come to bed to find Remus already asleep. At those moments, Remus’ face would be totally void of all emotion--absolutely at peace, dead to the world, except for maybe an occasional twitch of the cheek, or a restless foot moving underneath the covers--Remus still always in motion, even in sleep.

 

This face, however, is anything but peaceful. It is tense, tight, and is littered with small grimaces every few seconds, and Sirius’ chest aches sympathetically for Remus’, knowing that it’s pain that makes this nap so restless. He glances at all the drippy things filtering into Remus’ bloodstream, and knows one of them at least must be pain medication. Sirius is hit with a momentary, yet overwhelming, urge to demand they give him more of whatever it is, as though he as any amount of authority. Sirius knows nothing about medicine, nor medical procedure, but he knows, in his heart of hearts, that Remus Lupin never deserves to be in pain.

 

Sirius regards Remus’ hand closest to him, and considers the consequences of grabbing hold of it for longer than he considered convincing the nurse to let him more or less break into the ICU--which is, of course, to say that he still doesn’t contemplate it long, and is already grabbing hold of Remus’ hand. It’s the one with all the needles stuck in the veins, so he’s careful to hold onto it gently.

 

Remus’ hand is ice cold, like his sick heart can only push the blood circulation so far throughout his poor body, and his fingers are having to take a raincheck for the moment. Sirius cups Remus’ fingers between his hands, mindful of the ivs, and blows hot breath onto Remus’ skin, knowing it’s a tiny gesture, but if he can’t alleviate his lover’s pain, he can at least do this, small and useless as it might be. He bends down and presses a faint kiss over the backs of Remus’ fingers, and buries his face against the hospital bed in lieu of burying himself against Remus’ side. He sits there for some time, although he’s not sure for how long, before he gets the distinct impression he’s being watched.

 

Thinking at first it’s the nurse come to tell him his time is up, he doesn’t bother to look up, vowing to only move from this spot if she forces him to. But between his hands, he feels Remus’ own hand tense, and hears a very weak voice whisper out, “Sirius?” and that snaps Sirius’ attention instantaneously.

 

He jolts his head upright, and finds that Remus is regarding him with an unreadable expression--unreadable, either intentionally, or because he’s so doped up on pain meds to make any sensical gesture.

 

He looks so tired, Sirius realizes. He has never seen another person look this tired. Not his mother, when she had finally gotten fed up with all of her son’s antics, and could only muster up the strength to push him off into the street. Not Marlene, sitting on the literal edge of her seat, her exhaustion palpable, waiting for news. Not even Lily and the Lupins, exhausted less from the situation at hand, but exhausted from the number of times they’ve faced the situation at hand. All of those faces full of droopy eyelids and sagging shoulders do not even compare to the tiredness that radiates from his poor Remus’ face. Sirius is struck by the desire to curl up beside him and be there beside him to help guide him into a twenty hour nap.

 

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Have you tried ginger root tea?”

 

Remus, high on sleep and opiates, just offers a confused shake of the head. “What?” he asks weakly, clearly registering this conversation only on its barest levels.

 

“Pince,” Sirius explains airly. “At the bookstore. She always is always swearing by it. Remember when I came in with that case of bronchitis that one time, and she wouldn’t let me touch anything in the store until I had downed two glasses of ginger root tea?”

 

“Mm,” says Remus a little distantly. “How’d that work out for you then?”

 

“Healed within the week,” Sirius says proudly. “‘Course I was also taking antibiotics at the time, but hey, who really knows what did it?”

 

Remus, a little too high to be fast on the uptake, eventually concludes that this is Sirius’ attempt at an awkward, joke icebreaker, and lets out the most pathetic chuckle Sirus has ever heard.

 

“I’m not sure if that was even supposed to be a laugh,” he says.

 

“Best I can come up with, sorry. Chest hurts too much for much else.”

 

Sirius nods. “Do you want me to get the nurse? See if they can up your pain meds or something?”

 

“No,” Remus says, closing his eyes as though keeping them open has been taking all of his energy. “I’m already high as a kite, I don’t know how much more they can legally even give me. Don’t worry about me, though,” he adds as an afterthought. “As far as pain goes, I’ve had worse. Probably will have worse, once they start weaning me off the morphine.” He says all of this with his eyes closed, his face towards the ceiling. Sirius gets the distinct impression that all this is just rolling off his tongue, and he’s only somewhat aware of it.

 

A moment passes by, and the silence is uncomfortable. There was a time when being in silence with Remus was a source of contentment, but this is not one of those moments. This moment is shrouded in underlying tension, and Sirius doesn’t know how to break it, and Remus, perhaps too high and exhausted to bother, makes no attempt to break it either.

 

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” Sirius says finally. “Or, I don’t know, not okay maybe. But I hope you can understand why I am.”

 

“Not sure I do,” Remus says in his distant, drug-addled voice. “I mean, showing up at my deathbed is sort of in direct violation of, ‘please don’t see me when I’m sick.’”

 

“Surely not your deathbed,” Sirius finds the need to clarify, the mere idea making him feel ill.

 

“Perhaps not,” Remus says to the inside of his eyelids. “Of course, just about a day ago I was lying on my death floor, seconds away from being pronounced, so who knows what this bed will be used for.”

 

Remus is intentionally trying to Scare him, Sirius knows, and truth be told, it’s working. But he also knows to what end Remus is doing this--he’s not trying to just scare him, he’s trying to scare him _away_. Sirius does not point this out, however. Instead, he just grips Remus’ cold hand tighter in his own, and shakes his head.

 

“I know you’re not happy that I’m here,” he says. “And I’m sorry. Really, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but there’s no way I could stay away knowing you were here. I just couldn’t.”

 

Remus opens his eyes and turns his head and stares at him, his stare not unlike how his mother’s has been all day, and he just shakes his head. “How’d you get Pomfrey to let you in to see me, anyway?” he asks weakly.

 

“She’s off duty,” Sirius explains. "Some young girl took her shift."

 

“Ah,” Remus says, turning his head back to the ceiling and letting his eyes droop closed again. “A newbie I bet. Did you trick her, then?” Every word that comes out of Remus’ mouth is sluggish and slow, and Sirius, used to his usual sharp, witty counterpart, is trying not to show how much he’s bothered by this. He thinks he understands, maybe for the first time, just how sick Remus is. Still, it’s nothing he can’t deal with, and Remus was foolish to think that a few tubes and druggy speech would be enough to drive him away.

 

“I wouldn’t say tricked,” Sirius says. “I would say charmed. However,” he adds. "She didn’t give me long, so while I know there’s a lot of things we probably need to hash out here, we can just, I don’t know, bookmark it for now. At least until you're feeling better.”

 

“To what end?” Remus asks, half-asleep. “For what good?”

 

“Well, for one thing, I doubt added stress is anything you need right now. Hell, it’s not something I really need either, let’s be real. So maybe, for just right now, until that newbie nurse realizes I’m overstaying my welcome, we can just let me be a friend. Let’s disregard our history for right now, just for the moment, and let me be a friend who’s concerned about you, and wants to make sure you’re doing okay. Can we do that?”

 

“I can never just be your friend, Sirius,” Remus mutters, and Sirius realizes he’s about two seconds away from falling back to sleep. “That’s always been the problem.”

 

“We’ll just play pretend, then. It’ll be fun. Pretending to be Very Platonic Friends,” Sirius says, although his very non-platonic grip on Remus’ hand has shown no sign of loosening, and it’s not lost on him that Remus has shown no interest in remedying that situation either.

 

“Mm,” Remus says, clinging very loosely to consciousness. Sirius smiles. This particular face he’s familiar with. The face where Remus is trying to stay awake, but his body refuses to let him. He’s never seen Remus win this particular battle, and so he just brings Remus’ hand to his lips one more time, Very Platonically, of course, and amends his statement.

 

“Maybe a better idea would be,” he says. “That we don’t pretend anything, but you get some rest, and I’ll stay here until I get kicked out--which could happen any second now, really--and when I come back in the morning, hopefully you’ll be feeling a little better, and we can have a better conversation then?”

 

Remus says nothing at this, His head is lulling to the side, and his face, though tense, tells the tell-tale signs of someone losing the battle of consciousness vs. unconsciousness. Sirius laughs in spite of himself, and allows himself the indulgence of pushing a few strands of hair out of Remus’ face, knowing Remus won’t remember it in the morning, if he even is registering it now.

 

He watches Remus sleep fitfully for about ten minutes, before the young nurse finds him, and kindly suggests that his time should probably be up. He agrees, if only to stay on this woman’s good side. He can feel her tense a little in surprise from beside him, as Sirius leans over and presses his lips very, very gently to Remus’.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning, love,” he whispers against his ear. Remus lets out a small sigh, but doesn’t wake. Sirius gives his hand one last squeeze, and follows the nurse back out into the waiting area, where Lily is awake, watching him with a bit of a glare.

 

“I needed to see him,” Sirius explains to her before she can get a word in edgewise. “I had to know. I had to see.”

 

Lily, who has been with Remus through every hospital visit, and who is the only other person on the planet who might love Remus the amount Sirius does--Remus’ parents being a possible exception, but who knows for sure--drops her glare, and replaces it with an air of understanding.

 

“How is he, then?” she asks him, and Sirius shrugs.

 

“Sick,” he says. “Very sick.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Still Remus, though. Underneath all those monitors and medicines--I saw him there still. He’s still with us Lily, and I’m refusing to even consider the idea that he would leave.”

 

“Good,” Lily says, looping her arm through Sirius’ and leaning against him. Sirius wouldn’t call him and Lily super close friends, necessarily, but in this moment they are. In this moment, both of them comforted by the physical contact, and scared out of their wits as someone they love is now on a ticking clock where the end is either transplant or death. Lily takes a deep breath, and murmurs into Sirius’ arm where she has her face buried in the work uniform he never changed out of. “Then I’m refusing to consider the idea too. We’re stuck with him, whether he wants it or not. We won’t let him leave.”

 

“It’s not even an option,” Sirius says, ignoring the nagging voice somewhere in the head, the voice that sounds suspiciously like Remus, telling him there’s always something you can do to postpone the inevitable, but to what end? He’d be willing to face it head on, Sirius thinks, if only he could know what, exactly, the inevitable thing here was.

 

\---

 

_Margo McAllison, blood dry and cracked upon her lips, considered what this meant, this being saved again. Each moment she waited to fall, yet again, into mortal peril, she felt like a reaper was always two steps behind her. Donald, of course, was only one step behind. He sat beside her, checking her for injuries, trembling at the near loss he once again almost suffered._

_Margo, who had tasted death so many times now, was tired. If this was life, she wondered, was it worth living?_

_She didn’t voice this. Instead, she took her husband’s hands in hers, and spoke softly. “My foolish love,” said she. “You’d rather move the moon instead of just learning to take in the tide.”_

_“What,” asked Donald. He looked at her the way he always did--like she may vanish into thin air if he were to look away._

_“You run through life acting as though there is an algorithm for every decision--a set of rules and calculations that make your outcomes predictable. But have you never stopped to consider a bigger picture? One that exists beyond your manipulated seconds? Have you not considered that while you can perhaps become the master or moments, maybe you can’t be the master of lifetimes--that maybe while you may take your moments to fine-tune and twiddle down a love to its barest, most beautiful parts, that same love can never flourish without the bits you’ve tried to throw away?_

_“You can turn your nose up at destiny, and scoff at the idea of fate, but in order to love, and be loved in return, you sometimes have to stop trying to control the movement of the tide, and just learn to accept the wave.”_

“For what is love, my darling, if you can only accept the beautiful, and refuse to find the meaning hidden in the ugly?” Remus mutters, finishing the passage without opening his eyes.

 

“I didn’t think you were awake,” says Sirius. Remus peaks at him through squinted eyes, and sees him save his place in the book on his lap, and turn his attention towards Remus instead.

 

“I was for a bit,” says Remus. “Your reading woke me up a while ago, though.”

 

“Sorry,” Sirius says sheepishly. “I was trying to read quietly so maybe you’d just, I don’t know, dream that you were being read to or something.”

 

“S’okay,” Remus says, taking stock of his body. He hurts a lot, but not enough to warrant a buzz to the on-call nurse. He feels gummy and greasy, and thoroughly unattractive, which usually he wouldn’t care much about, except Sirius is apparently at his bedside again--not sure when that happened--and he’s a bit self-conscious about it. “If you didn’t wake me up, one of the nurses would have soon. I never can sleep through a vitals check.”

 

“Better to be woken up by your favourite novel than by nurses poking you with stuff, right?”

 

“Right,” Remus agrees. He runs a hand over his face, and fiddles with the remote that controls the bed. He winces as moves his bed into a better sitting position.

 

“You okay?” Sirius asks in a casual voice that isn’t fooling Remus one bit.

 

“Peachy,” he replies, letting out a soft ‘ow,’ and feeling his whole body go limp like jelly from the mere action of sitting up a little.

 

“Right,” says Sirius, and he says nothing else.

 

Remus looks at the clock on the wall. It’s about a quarter after nine in the morning. His night was restless, and frequently interrupted by well-meaning nurses who Remus hopes, but really can’t remember if, he was kind to. He’s adjusting to his pain medication, but he feels a little nauseated and dizzy, and also there’s the fact that he has a foreign object inside his chest cavity right now, and that doesn’t exactly feel pleasant either.

 

All of this, however, is taking a backseat to the very real issue before him, which is, of course, the matter of Sirius Black sitting at his bedside reading to him.

 

The number of things wrong with this picture are infinite, and Remus is far too sick to process any of them, so instead he just tactlessly blurts out, “What are you doing here, Sirius?”

 

Sirius smiles and shrugs, and it’s infuriating how comfortable he seems right now. “I wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

 

“You could have asked my doctors,” Remus says. “You could have asked my parents.”

 

“Could have. I wanted to see you, though. Glad I did, too. You look a lot better than you did yesterday. Colour is better and everything.”

 

“Sirius,” Remus says warningly, and Sirius gives a knowing nod.

 

“Hey,” he says gently, taking hold of Remus’ hand like he had the day before. “I know what you’re going to say, and I know you afraid of, I don’t know, that I’m going to become obsessive and never leave your side, and then it’ll ruin my life or something, but maybe we can just, I don’t know, chill a little? Just a little. We could not worry about the maybe future right this second, and just worry about right now, yeah? Right now, where you’re sick, and I’m here just making sure you’re okay.”

 

Remus appreciates this sentiment, but it’s still not flying with him. All he can see, every time he even thinks about _thinking_ about Sirius, is how much of a burden all of this will add to him if he lets him stay.

 

Because Sirius can’t just stay and be a Concerned Platonic Friend. Remus knows this, and he knows that Sirius knows this. It’s like when they were dancing around the issue of sex vs. relationships so many months ago, and how they realized they couldn’t have one without the other. If Remus lets Sirius stay here--if he lets him get involved--then they will fall right back to where they were a month ago. There are wounds that never healed, love that still exists, and as much as Remus wants back what he had--aches for it, in fact--he knows, down to his very core that doing that to Sirius would not be fair.

 

“I can’t do that,” he says. “I can’t pretend I don’t see what the future holds when I can see it clear as day. I see what’s going to happen to you as vividly as I see you right now in the present, and I refuse to be complacent in that. I’m sorry.”

 

At this, Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, and buries his face into the side of Remus’ bed with a long, drawn out sigh.

 

“You silly fool,” he says fondly, voice muffled by the mattress. He sits back up, shaking his head, a half smile on his lips. “You really want to have this conversation now? Right here?”

 

“There’s not really a conversation to be had, Sirius,” says Remus, regarding his ex-lover like a teacher would regard a student who wasn’t fully getting the concept at hand.

 

“No, there is,” says Sirius. “I’ve been thinking a lot of things since you broke up with me, but none of it really solidified into a something I could really voice until I saw you yesterday. So if you really can’t shut that silly brain of yours off--the one that likes to worry about uncertainties like they’re facts--then fine. I’d rather we wait until you weren’t hooked up to a thousand machines in an ICU, but what the Hell, right?”

 

“Sirius, I don’t--” Remus starts, but Sirius cuts him off.

 

“No no,” he says, raising his hand to still Remus’ objection. “You, my love, are the expert when it comes to long-winded, yet beautiful monologues about life and love and whatever else, and I don’t claim to be some great wordsmith, but at least give me the courtesy to try to say what I want to say, uninterrupted. Alright?”

 

Remus, aching from literal wounds in his chest, and figurative ones in his gut, simply nods his assent.

 

“Cool, well then, here I go,” says Sirius, clearing his throat and tightening his grip on Remus’ hand. He leans forward in his chair, cutting the distance between them down from ‘cordial’ to ‘intimate.’ They are so close that when he speaks again, Remus can feel the heat of Sirius’ breath, and hear the vibration of his low voice in the back of his throat. “Yesterday, when James came to the shop to tell me that your heart stopped, I had never been more afraid in my life. Like, not even that time I lost a bet against Peter and I had to let him give me a haircut. I’m talking like, downright, blood cold as ice, sheer terror, okay?

 

“And then I got here, and Lily tells me you actually died. Like, honest to God _died_ for six whole minutes, and on top of that, at that same moment she tells me some doctors are sticking robot parts in your body to make it so you can live longer, and I felt that ice cold fear again.

 

“And then, finally, after a day of just waiting around, wanting to see you, I sneak into the ICU, and I find you. And oh Remus, you looked so sick, so very sick, and I was a little overwhelmed, sure, seeing you like that--even seeing you like this right now--but I, uh, I wasn’t as scared, you know? Because even though I knew that things weren’t great--that you just got out of surgery, and things might still be a  little touch and go, at least I was there with you while it was happening.

 

“I spent all last night just thinking about your heart stopping in that fucking bookshop, and every time I thought about it, I just got so angry, because I should have been there, Remus, I should have been with you. And I don’t mean that I should have been there to save you. I mean that I wished I could have been there just to be there--just to be by your side, no matter what happened.

 

“I kept thinking, you know, what if? What if they had called it, right there on the bookshop floor, and I was off somewhere watching bad telly or getting sloshed with James? And I realized that I would have never forgiven myself.

 

“Because, you see, the thing is Remus, I’m not here to try to save you. I’m just here to love you. And loving you means being there for you when you’re healthy, when you’re sick, or even when you’re dying. You’re so concerned, so _worked_ _up_ , about the idea of me being broken by watching you get sicker, but the thing is, the thing that is breaking me is not being there with you while it happens. Damnit, Remus, you should have never been alone.

 

“I’m not an idiot, alright? I know that there is a real possibility that this illness may take your life. You might die before me, and I may have to deal with that trauma, and it would undoubtedly be the worst thing I’ll ever have to deal with. But hell, by that same token, I could get on my motorbike after this conversation, and could crash into a tree, and then you’d be the survivor. Or maybe the hospital will blow up, and we’ll both be taken together. Who knows? Who _cares_? The point is that we don’t know what’s going to happen. There are only so many truths that we know right now. And one of them is that we love each other, and the other one is that staying away from you, whether your thriving or dying, is going to be the thing that breaks my heart the most.

 

“So you can tell yourself you’re doing right by me by keeping me away, but you’re wrong. I am _already_ invested, Remus, you already have all of me. Don’t ask me to walk away now. Not after all this.

 

“There is a clear difference, love, between being someone’s savior, and just being someone’s support. Afterall, not to use your own book against you once again, (I’m sorry, it’s very handy), but, well, what is love, my darling, if you can only accept the beautiful, and refuse to find the meaning hidden in the ugly?”

 

The end of Sirius’ monologue comes abruptly, and Remus, overwhelmed with everything, doesn’t even remember how speaking works, let alone what he would say if he did. He rubs his face, and finds his cheeks are wet. Sirius regards him patiently, with a look that puts no pressure on a response. Remus is grateful and infuriated at the same time--it would be so much easier to tear himself away from Sirius, if Sirius could just stop being everything Remus needs.

 

“Pardon me,” says a young nurse at the door. Remus wonders how long she’s been listening. “I have to change Remus’ dressings,” she says. “It should only take a few minutes, if you’d like to go out in the waiting room…”

 

“It’s okay,” says Sirius, getting to his feet. “I was just leaving.” He turns back to Remus, squeezes his hand, and mutters, “Think about that, okay? I’ll be back later tonight after work, alright?” For a seond he acts like he might lean down and kiss Remus--and Remus berates himself for hoping he will--but he thinks better of it at the last second, and shows himself to the door.

 

The nurse, setting to work on Remus’ bandages, smirks at him a little.

  
“You know,” she says after a moment. “If I had someone who loved me like that, I would never let them go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this chapter was a pain in my fucking ass  
> 2\. you look lovely today  
> 3\. SEVERUS-SNAPE-IS-A-BUTT-TRUMPET.TUMBLR.COM WHERE APPARENTLY YOU CAN INSTANT MESSAGE EACH OTHER FOR SOME GOD AWFUL REASON, TF?  
> 4\. sorry my tumblr just got updated and i'm sort of bitter?  
> 5\. thank uuuu


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i accidentally make a nameless OC, who from here on out will just be referred to as Shipper Nurse. oh, and plot things happen too ig.

To Remus, hospitals are like an awkward family member’s house. Like a house that belongs to a widowed great aunt, who invites you over a few times a year, and even though you’re familiar enough with the place, the visits never sit well with you, because it always smells like mothballs and stale cat urine.

 

That’s what hospitals are to Remus, except instead they smell like antiseptic and sickness, and instead of an old lady pushing sweets on him, it’s a handful of nurses poking him with needles and invading his personal space.

 

Personal space, Remus realizes, is a foreign concept in a hospital--at least when you’re too sick to do much for yourself. The days following his surgery are littered with a blur of doctors, nurses, and visitors, all coming at him with unsolicited touch.

 

Touch is funny. Touch is one of those things you don’t tend to think much about until you’re forced to. It’s like becoming aware of your own blinking--something that usually exists as white noise, suddenly becoming a tremendous burden.

 

At various points throughout the day, nurses come in and change his dressings, their gloved hands pressing against the bare skin of his back and shoulders. Nurses, Remus has found, all have a similar way of touching. They touch their patients as though their patients aren’t there. They go through each shift with their hands on so many different bodies that they no longer connect “body” with “person” anymore. Years ago, Remus shared a hospital room with a man who had an unfortunate incident which caused him to leak a lot of different kinds of body fluids at once. Before they closed the curtains around the man’s bed, Remus saw two nurses, elbow deep in who knows what, discussing what was being served in the cafeteria that evening.

 

A body, to a nurse, is just a body.

 

That’s not to say they are careless--any good nurse of Remus’ has had a gentle and quick touch--but they are informal. To those gloved hands rebandaging the surgical wound, Remus’ skin is merely consequential to the job. There is no sense of comfort, nor kindness, behind this kind of touch. It is cold.

 

Doctors touch differently too. Twice now, the doctor has come in to inspect Remus. Every time Remus has met with this doctor, she has been fiddling with a pen, looping in between the fingers on her right hand. She has a busy energy about her. She always seems rushed.

 

Doctors touch the same way they do all things--authoritatively. This antsy doctor, with her busy, surgeon’s hands, touches Remus’ chest like she owns it--pokes and prods at the sutures as though taking some absurd show of dominance. It’s not the same as how the nurses make Remus feel like a ragdoll, but it still feels like a shot at his body autonomy.

 

Those sorts of touches--from the nurses and the doctors--aren’t the worst of them, though. Visitors. Visitor touches are the ones Remus most dreads, and so is thankful he knows so few people.

 

The problem is that, for most people, hospitals are uncomfortable. A hospital is an unfamiliar domain, and people are wont to act strangely when they feel uncomfortable. No one is to be faulted for this, of course, it’s just a part of human nature--and Remus just happens to get the brunt of it, because he’s so often stuck in a hospital bed.

 

Remus understands. He knows that it’s difficult to know what to say when visiting someone who’s sick. His visitors--even his parents, even Lily--struggle sometimes with the right words. So instead, they find it easier to express themselves with their hands. Small touches--touches they probably don’t even realize they’re doing--consume Remus’ poor body. His mother pushing back his hair from his forehead, for instance, or his father patting him on his shoulder like you would a mate. Lily has a habit of running a thumb down Remus’ cheek to his chin. All of this means the same thing--it’s all just an attempt at expressing love and sympathy, which is why Remus feels so guilty for hating all of it.

 

If he is to survive this, Remus finds himself thinking every time someone violates his skin, then he would very much like to take a few days to lock himself in his room away from all people, so that he cannot be touched by anyone.

 

The only touch that didn’t seem to bother Remus, came in the form of Sirius Black holding his hand. Of course, while nice to have touch that doesn’t feel like tiny pinpricks, this presents other issues entirely. For example, the fact that Remus is not supposed to long for Sirius’ touch in any capacity anymore, hand holding or otherwise. If anything, Sirius’ touch--and his mere presence in this hospital--should infuriate Remus more than anything else. But this late morning, two days after his latest surgery, a nurse at his side, touching him coldly along his shoulders, Remus finds he’s having a hard time remembering why exactly that is.

 

“That boy,” his young nurse says, taping up Remus’ newest bandage skillfully. “The one who came to see you yesterday morning? He was here again last night, while you were sleeping.”

 

“Oh?” asks Remus, ignoring the flip-flopping feeling in his belly. Sure, he may be having a hard time remembering why he didn’t want Sirius here, but he hasn’t forgotten entirely. He broke up with Sirius for a reason, he reminds himself forcefully. But Sirius’ persistence is making it a lot harder for Remus to stick to his guns.

 

“Mhm,” says the nurse, a little too knowingly. “Sat with you for close to an hour before it was time for shift change. I told him to leave before Pomfrey got on the clock. You know how she is about visitors during bedrest.”

 

Remus gives a weak smile, trying, and failing, to not imagine Sirius sitting at his bedside while he slept a heavy, medicated sleep.

 

That’s the exact sort of thing Remus is working to prevent, right? So then why does the emotion the image brings him feel so much like longing?

 

“Ex of yours or something?” the nurse asks. Remus startles.

 

“What?” he says, feeling himself turn what must be a tremendous shade of red. “No. No, of course not, no.”

 

The nurse glances at Remus’ heart monitor, where his BPM has increased from 72 to 86 very rapidly, and then looks back to Remus with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Or, well, maybe he’s something like that,” he relents, scowling, and the nurse smiles.

 

“I know how that goes,” she says somewhat wistfully, as though remembering an old lover from her past. Remus shifts uncomfortably in his bed. “That boy though,” says the nurse, snapping back to reality. “Helluva speech he gave you yesterday. Hell, I was almost in tears over it.”

 

Remus finds himself wishing very vehemently for Nurse Pomfrey, who wouldn’t give a single damn about Remus’ personal affairs, unless she thought they would cause him to lose sleep.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “It was...something.”

 

The young nurse just smiles wider, and turns to read over Remus’ vitals.

 

“You’ve got a bit of a fever, Mr. Lupin,” she says briskly, switching back to nurse-mode so quickly it nearly makes Remus’ head spin.

 

“Oh,” he says, caught of guard. “Uh, is it bad?”

 

“It’s low-grade,” she says, unconcerned. “Probably nothing, but we’ll keep an eye on it. Don’t want you getting an infection on us, right? Now, in the meantime,” she says, patting Remus on the arm (and even this gesture feels cold). “You still need to get some walking in today.”

 

“Blurgh,” says Remus in reply, immediately sinking his body as far down in his stiff, hospital mattress as he can.

 

“Shush,” says the nurse with a click of her tongue. “The faster you’re up and moving, the faster we can transfer you out of the ICU. You know the drill.”

 

“I walked yesterday,” Remus mutters into his pillow, feeling very much like a small child turning their nose up at their vegetables. It is true, of course, he did walk up and down the hall yesterday with Lily and his mother. Plus, he is too proud to add, he has walked himself to the restroom every time it’s been necessary.

 

“Yes you did,” says the nurse, like the mother of the child who won’t eat their vegetables. “And I’d like you to do it again today. And tomorrow. And even the next day, if you think you can manage it.” She takes no notice of Remus’ pout.

 

“What’s he got to walk for?” comes a voice at the door. Remus and his young nurse, whom he’s liking less and less as time goes by, look over to see Sirius standing in the doorway. He is holding his motorcycle helmet in one hand, and is looking like a puppy trying to decide if it wants to go out into the snow.

 

The nurse again glances at Remus’ heart monitor, which Remus is mortified to see is showing his heart beating even faster than before. Remus ignores the significant look she throws him, before turning her attention back to Sirius. “Walking after surgery is good for circulation. Keeps blood clots from forming. Plus,” she adds cheekily, nudging Remus with her hand. “We don’t want our patients absorbing into their mattresses, like this one keeps threatening to do, what with all his sleeping.”

 

Pomfrey, Remus decides, is the only nurse he ever wants to have.

 

“Yeah, I saw some of that sleeping,” Sirius says, grinning a little. He looks over the nurse’s shoulder at Remus and explains, “I came by last night, but you were pretty much dead to the world.”

 

“Yeah, she told me,” Remus says, nodding at his horrible nurse.

 

“Yeah,” Sirius echoes. He puts a hand in his pocket and clears his throat. Remus, decidedly looking everywhere but at Sirius, chews on the inside of his cheek. The nurse presses her lips together in a thin line in a poor attempt at not smiling.

 

“If you want,” she says to Sirius. “You can help Remus go on a little walk around the hospital. Not far, just down the hall and back. Wouldn’t take long.” She turns to Remus. “I want you to get up and moving before the doctor comes to check on you this afternoon,” she adds.

 

“Oh,” says Sirius. “Uh, yeah, I can do that. I mean, if Remus doesn’t mind.”

 

Remus gives his dreadful nurse what he hopes is a glare to end all glares, and says, “Yeah, that’s fine,” as begrudgingly as he can muster. His nurse, not having the sense to feel ashamed, gives him a clear, happy smile, and even has the audacity to wink. Remus almost wishes he was immobile enough to warrant a bedpan, just so he could make her clean it up.

 

Part of why Remus hates post-op walks so much is because they make him feel part robot. He has to walk around with machines still attached to him, and, this time, with one machine _inside_ of him. He hates being reliant on devices to keep his body moving. He hates feeling helpless; hates having other people see him helpless. The nurse helps him to his feet, and he tries hard not to show how much it hurts, very aware of Sirius’ scrutiny of his every movement.

 

Remus shuffles towards the door and Sirius reaches out to assist him, but he shies away. “I got it,” Remus mutters harsher than he intends. Sirius drops his hands like weights. “It’s just, I want to try to do it by myself,” Remus amends, a little softer. “Just walk beside me, and I’ll tell you if I need help, yeah?’

 

Sirius nods. “Yeah,” he say, but a note of apprehension lies somewhere behind the word.

 

“I’m going back to rounds,” says the young nurse. Good riddance, Remus doesn’t say. “I’m just a button push away if you need me. Doctor will by in a few hours to check your progress.”

 

She leaves Remus in Sirius’ supervision. with Remus holding tight to his portable devices, careful to keep his balance. He shuffles his feet a tiny bit at a time, and Sirius follows.

 

“I’m sure I must be the epitome of sex appeal right now,” Remus says after the silence between them drags on for too long.

 

“Hm?” Sirius says.

 

“You know,” Remus says, grimacing a little as he tries to make his feet take proper steps. “What with two days worth of sponge baths and the hospital gown that barely goes to the knees. Why, if it weren’t so goddamn ugly, it’d almost be skanky.”

 

Sirius snorts. “I’ll admit, it’s a far cry from your usual outfits. First time I came to see you, I almost didn’t recognize you not buried under a craft store’s worth of wool. That hospital gown is downright slutty.”

 

“Ha, right, definitely the word I’d use. Honestly, I think it’s just the hospital’s way of putting the patients on.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Putting all their patients in embarrassing gowns with no pants, and then having them walk around the halls that way? Clearly it’s someone’s idea of a practical joke.”

 

“Oh I dunno,” says Sirius, watching Remus carefully as he uses his free hand to hold onto the railing along the hallway wall. “I dunno about your doctors, but I’ve always been a fan of you without pants.”

 

This time Remus snorts. “Well this just took a turn into dangerous territory,” he says lightly, but he’s sure his blushing cheeks betray his cool exterior.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Sirius says. Neither says anything for a moment. “You know,” Sirius says, breaking the silence. “We should probably talk about--”

 

“Can we sit for a moment?” Remus asks, breaking Sirius off. “I’m getting a bit tired.”

 

“Oh,” says Sirius. “Uh, yeah. Do you want to go back to your room?”

 

“No,” says Remus. “Just need a little breather. There’s a waiting area right there,” he says, nodding to a mostly deserted group of chairs and end tables with outdated magazines on them.

 

He shuffles his sickly body towards them, and carefully drops himself onto one of the chairs. Sirius stands next to him for a few seconds, before getting visibly uncomfortable towering over Remus, and taking the seat next to him.

 

Remus leans back with his eyes closed and places a hand gingerly to his throbbing chest. He just got a dose of morphine not long ago, and he decides he would hate to know what his chest really feels like when the pain’s not being filtered through his opiate-addled brain. (Is this, his mother’s daily fear?)

 

“You okay?” Sirius asks as casually as a concerned loved one can ever ask that question in the Intensive Care Unit.

 

“Mm,” says Remus. “Yeah, I’m good. Just sore.” He thinks about saying something snippy about recovering from having a machine shoved into his chest cavity, but he gets distracted by a woman by the elevator near them.

 

She looks frazzled. She drops her keys, and when she bends down to pick them up with shaky fingers, she drops them again. She appears to be waiting for the elevator, but has forgotten to push any of the buttons to call it. She’s talking urgently into a cell phone. She is crying.

 

“The doctors,” she is saying to whomever is on the other end. “The doctors, they’re saying there’s nothing more they can do for him. But that’s not right, is it? We can get a second opinion, can’t we? There can’t be nothing...I know...I know that, but I can’t just sit around and wait for him to just, to just...I’m just saying there’s got to be something we can do.” She kicks at the elevator, swears at it, and presses the down button three times in rapid succession. When it finally opens, she nearly drops her keys again. The doors begin to close on her while she continues to beg for validation that not all is lost. The doors shut completely, and she disappears.

 

Remus doesn’t know this woman, but feels for her in a way he wouldn’t with most strangers. Even more absurdly, he feels a connection to whomever it is she loves who is clearly dying. If that person, whoever they are, could see her in shambles on the elevator, Remus knows they would feel guilt. Not knowing if said person knows how distraught his woman is, or if he is even in any sort of state to perceive it, Remus shoulders the guilt for the both of them--him and this stranger.

 

Sirius nudges Remus, startling him out of his staring, out of his thoughts.

 

“Sorry,” Remus says.

 

“What were you thinking about watching her just now?” Sirius asks.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Sirius smiles a little sadly. “You sure?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” says Remus a little defensively. “What would I have been thinking about?”

 

“Well,” Sirius says, shrugging. “I dunno, love, seems to me any time you see anyone else in a situation that mirrors yours in any way, you start thinking about what a burden you must be on everyone around you.”

 

Remus rolls his eyes, but secretly aches at how familiar with Remus Sirius always seems to be. “Know my thoughts that well, huh?” he asks bitterly, but Sirius is unaffected by Remus’ attitude.

 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he says, taking Remus’ hand in his for just long enough to give it a squeeze. Remus reprimands himself for wishing the touch lasted longer.

 

“I know what you want to ask me,” Remus says, getting to his feet. “You want to ask me if I’ve thought about what you said yesterday, right?”

 

“Remus Lupin, do you think so low of me that you think I’d come to your sickbed with nothing but selfish intentions?” says Sirius. Remus raises an eyebrow, and Sirius sort of bobs his head a little. “But, I mean, if we’re on the subject…?”

 

Remus feels betrayed by the involuntary grin that blooms on his face, however briefly. “You’re incredible,” he admonishes.

 

“It’s been said,” Sirius agrees, trailing beside Remus’ slow pace as he resumes walking down the hallway.

 

“I’ve thought about it,” says Remus. “Thought about little else, in fact.”

 

“Yeah?” asks Sirius. “Come to any conclusions.”

 

“No,” says Remus resolutely. “That’s the problem.”

 

“Hm,” Sirius says, pouting his lips out in contemplation. “Well, I suppose, ‘I don’t know,’ is better than, ‘get out of my life forever.’”

 

“Sirius--” Remus begins, but Sirius cuts him off.

 

“No Remus, really, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to make big huge decisions overnight while you’re still recovering from surgery. Take your time. Your health needs to take precedence over my pining, I know that. I’m no fool.”

 

“Could you be less understanding?” Remus asks with a sigh.

 

“Could I...what?” Sirius asks with a frown.

 

“Be less understanding,” Remus repeats. “It makes it so much harder to stand my ground when you’re so empathetic.”

 

“Ha! Well, I wasn’t even trying to make it more difficult, but now that I know it’s working in my favor, I probably won’t stop.”

 

“Figured,” muttered Remus.

 

“One request, though,” says Sirius.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Can I still see you? I know I haven’t really listened to you before, and have shown up against your wishes, but now that you’re, you know, more coherent and have the right to cast me away, can I just ask that you...that you don’t...do that?”

 

“You can stay with me,” Remus says. “Assuming I have no more major tragedies.”

 

“So, what then? I can come to your sickbed but not your deathbed, is that what you’re saying?”

 

“I’m saying I’d rather you see me healing, not getting worse, alright? For now, at least. Until I make any, what’d you call them, ‘big huge decisions’? That fair?”

 

“That’s fair,” Sirius agrees.

 

Remus stops in the middle of the hallway and looks at Sirius. “Thanks,” he says. “Not just for understanding, or for being respectful for my boundaries, but just, you know, thanks for being here. Thanks for everything.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine doing anything different,” Sirius says, and from anyone else it would sound like some dumb romantic declaration, but from Sirius it just sounds genuine. He truly can’t imagine any course of action than the one he’s taken. What a goddamn enigma, Remus thinks. He reaches out to him, taking hold of his jacket, and Sirius lets himself be pulled close.

 

“I can’t really move my body that much to reach your face,” Remus says with a slightly bashful laugh, his portable monitor limiting his mobility. “But if you wanted to kiss me--just once and just real quick, mind you--well, I wouldn’t push you away.”

 

Sirius grins like it’s Christmas, and contorts his body in the way Remus cannot, meeting his lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. It somehow feels almost more intimate than any of the innumerable makeout sessions they’ve had. Remus flushes a little, clears his throat, and starts walking back down the hall.

 

They get back to his room, and he actually lets Sirius help him back into bed; blushes when Sirius tucks the covers around him. Sirius then sits on the empty space on the bed and looks contemplative.

 

“What is it?” Remus asks.

 

“Nothing,” Sirius says, waving his hand, but his brows furrow together.

 

“Something,” Remus says. “What is it.”

 

“It’s nothing to do with, you know, us,” Sirius says. “Or anything we’ve been talking about, it’s just, I’ve been wondering…”

 

“Yeah?” Remus prompts. “Wondering what?”

 

Sirius turns so he can see Remus’ face. He wears at his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment.

 

“What’s it like to die, Remus?” he asks.

 

Remus is both completely surprised by the question, and yet feels like he had been expecting it. Maybe because for the longest time, he had expected that sort of question from people. It seemed a natural thing to be curious about, and Remus had experienced it three times now. But no one, not even Lily, has ever so much as hinted at wanting an answer.

 

Remus regards Sirius. Sirius Black--exuberance personified--and considers his answer.

 

The truth is that dying is everything that Sirius Black is not. It’s quiet, and dark, and peaceful. It’s like taking every bit of tension your body is holding onto, and releasing it into the void. Remus wonders if the opposite of death isn’t actually life, but is, in fact, Sirius Black. Or, more likely, it’s just that Sirius embodies so much of what life means, that he can’t tell the two apart.

 

Sirius wants reassurance, of course, that’s what this question always is about. He wants to know that dying isn’t something he needs to be terrified of--that even once he’s gone he’ll be able to fall in love with death the way he has with life.

 

Remus can offer no such assurance. He’s never been dead long, and in the moments he has been, he’s never seen anything but blackness. That’s not to say that’s all there is--maybe he’s forgotten it, it being something only the dead can remember, or maybe he’s just not gotten far enough into death to experience it. Remus is fine with any of the options, really, as death has been some of the most pleasant moments of, well, not his life exactly, but you get the gist.

 

But this, he knows, is of little comfort. He decides not to voice a word of it, instead, taking Sirius’ hand in his--happy to be the instigator of touch instead of being the unwanted recipient of it for once--and smiles sweetly at him as he says,

 

“It’s quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

 

\---

 

Sirius happens upon Lily in the hospital cafeteria that afternoon after he’s kicked out of Remus’ room for his doctor checkup. She’s got two different books open, one on the table, and one in her hand, and she’s got a fork in the other. She dips it down, aiming for her spaghetti, but instead hitting her textbook. She brings the fork back up to her mouth and seems surprised to find it empty. Sirius laughs, and comes up to her.

 

“I hear physics textbooks don’t taste that great,” he says, pulling out a seat.

 

Lily startles, looks to see it’s him, and then rolls her eyes. “Oh shut up,” she says. “I’m just a little distracted.”

 

“Probably because you’re trying to eat lunch, and read two different books, all at the same time.”

 

“Probably,” Lily says absently, going back to skimming through the book in her hand.

 

“Would it help if I fed you?” Sirius asks cheekily.

 

“Absolutely not,” Lily says to her book. Sirius snatches the fork from her hand. “Oi!” she exclaims, but her complaint is cut short as Sirius forces a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. “Very funny,” she says through a mouthful of pasta, grabbing her fork back and swallowing heavily. “You git, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

“Remus is being examined by the big fancy surgeon, and I took the rest of the week off work, so, nope, nowhere.”

 

“Oh excellent,” says Lily, sitting her book down with her hand still marking her page. “Does that mean you’ve come to torment me, then?”

 

“Wasn’t my intention,” Sirius says, propping his feet up on the free chair next to him. “Didn’t even know you were down here. It was all just a matter of fate, I suppose.”

 

“I don’t believe in fate,” Lily says deadpanned. “All I believe in is your ability to drive me up the wall while I’m trying to get things done.”

 

“Probably more reliable than fate,” Sirius agrees. “But I’m not too sorry. You look exhausted. If driving you up a wall means forcing you to take a break so you can actually eat your food instead of trying to stick your forks in textbooks, then I will gladly shoulder that burden.”

 

“How selfless of you,” Lily says. “Well, not to wreck your altruistic intentions, but I’ll have you know I’m just fine. Just a little tired.”

 

“I can’t see how you wouldn’t be,” says Sirius. “It can’t be easy trying to do uni work with your best friend sitting in the ICU.”

 

Lily squints a little at Sirius, as though surprised by his sudden genuineness.  “I’m fine,” she says again, but a little softer. “Are you?”

 

Sirius considers this. “Mm, well, things have certainly have been better,” he says. “But all things considered, I’m doing okay.”

 

“All things considered,” Lily repeats in agreement. “I haven’t been up to see him until really early this morning when he first woke up. How’s he doing?”

 

“Stubborn as Hell,” Sirius says, and Lily laughs.

 

“I can believe that, but what makes you say that.”

 

“I walked with him around the hall, and the lengths he went to try and make me not see him in pain, or to make sure I didn’t needlessly help him? It was almost laughable.”

 

“Haha, yeah, that’s Patient Remus in a nutshell. He’s that way with everyone, so don’t be offended. I swear, he could come into the hospital with blood literally spurting out of every orifice in his body, and he’d probably call it a ‘3’ on the pain scale, and insist that he doesn’t want to be a burden.”

 

“I can see it,” says Sirius laughing.

 

“So,” Lily says after a moment.

 

“So,” Sirius echoes, expecting what is about to come next.

 

“Are you and him…? I mean, have you patched things up yet?”

 

“Dunno,” Sirius says honestly. “He said, in typical Remus fashion I might add, that he needed a bit more time.”

 

“That kid can’t make decisions to save his life. You ever try to make dinner plans with him?”

 

“Twice,” Sirius says. “And from then on out I just started making the choices.”

 

“Yeah, exactly. You probably shouldn’t take that one personally either. Honestly, I still think he was completely daft for breaking up with you in the first place. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he knows it. Or, well,” Lily amends. “Best thing that’s ever happened to him, except for maybe me.”

 

“We’d all be lost without you, Lils,” says Sirius, and he’s surprised to find that he’s only sort of joking. How quickly and entirely these two people, Remus and Lily, have infiltrated and completely changed Sirius’ whole world. He thinks James would probably agree.

 

“He told me, you know,” says Lily. “About your little speech yesterday.”

 

“Who, Remus?”

 

“Mhm. He tried to be nonchalant about it, but I could tell you must have gotten through to him at least a little.”

 

“Yeah? How do you know?”

 

“Because he refused to look me in the eye the whole time he told me the story,” Lily explains, laughing again. “Emotions make him ill. I think avoiding eye contact is his way of pretending no one else is in the room.”

 

“Yes,” says Sirius. “I know that well.”

 

Lily beams at him.

 

“I’ll tell you what, Sirius Black,” she says, taking a forkful of spaghetti and holding it in front of her lips. “Together or not, I’ll always be grateful you’re a part of his life.”

 

\---

 

When Remus was seven years old, a nasty virus was making its way through all the school children in town. Already weak, already sickly, the virus invaded his body like he were a motel with a big, neon vacancy sign hanging about his neck.

 

In most of the children, the virus came in the form of a manageable fever, with manageable symptoms, like stuffy noses and phlegmy coughs that never got much worse than an annoying chest cold.

 

Of course, Remus wasn’t most children, and as if the universe was perpetually trying to beat him down, maybe as punishment for cheating death already once at this point, the virus manifested itself as a most powerful enemy. How it got to him--through a sneeze from a classmate, or the touch of a table covered in a peer’s germy fingerprints--it hardly mattered. Regardless of how, it snuck inside his body and made itself at home.

 

Remus remembers waking up with a headache and a scratchy feeling in the back of his throat. By two that afternoon, his temperature had shot up so high that his parents decided to take him to the A&E. His memories of this are foggy, probably because he was foggy when it was happening. He remembers being cold--colder than he had ever been before; so cold his skin hurt to the touch, and his bones felt like ice. He remembers putting up a fight, as he always did at that age, over the IVs the doctors stuck into his arm to keep him hydrated. More than anything, though, he remembers the fever dreams. Demonic, evil dreams that he couldn’t stomach, but couldn’t wake up from either, dozing in and out of reality with little control.

 

It took the doctors hours to get his temperature under control, but by then the virus had expanded their lease to Remus’ lungs. By morning the next day, fluid had begun to fill them, and he had full-fledged pneumonia, and even at that young age, Remus recognized the irony of living with a congenital heart defect, only to die by a completely different body system.

 

It got bad.

 

Like “we can try to make him comfortable,” bad.

 

At least, Remus’ father had said when he thought Remus was too out of it to hear him, they wouldn’t have to worry about transplant anymore.

 

When the anti-virals started working, and the fluid had been cleared, young Remus wondered if his body decided to heal itself out of spite.

 

Eventually, his chest got less tight, his breathing less shallow, and he was discharged. If only, he had thought to himself (and often times even now) his weak heart could heal itself as easily as his strong lungs.

 

The fever that had been “low-grade” and written off as nothing for hours washes over Remus suddenly in the middle of the night. He wakes in his bed in the ICU, same bone chilling coldness taking hold of him as it had so many years before. Barely conscious, he tugs on his blankets, wrapping them around himself as tightly as he can, but the cold doesn’t dissipate.

 

He lets out small sobs he isn’t even aware he’s making, still partly stuck inside a fever sleep stupor. His teeth chatter and his body shakes nearly to the point of convulsion. He tries to bring his knees to his chest to curl into himself like a cat to preserve heat, but the surgical wound on his chest throbs when he does it. The pain wakes him up all the way. He blinks around the nearly dark room, his surroundings momentarily unfamiliar, the only lights coming from his monitors and the dim lighting along the wall to guide the nurses at nighttime.

 

Remus, shaking and delirious, forces enough sense out of himself to recognize that something is Not Right. He tries to remember what he’s supposed to do when things are Not Right. After racking his brain, his hand finds a button attached to the side of his bed, and not even really remembering what it does, he presses it.

 

The nurse that shows is Pomfrey.

 

“Something the matter, Mr. Lupin?” she asks, approaching his bed briskly. Remus finds that he can barely speak.

 

“C-cold,” he manages with a tremendous shiver. “I’m cold.”

 

Madam Pomfrey says nothing. Remus is not one for dramatics or exaggeration. Pomfrey has been his nurse more times now than either of them could possibly remember, and Remus guesses he could count the number of times he’s called for her help on one hand. He likes as little attention as possible, and it’s good that Pomfrey knows this--knows to take him seriously. She immediately places a hand over his forehead.

 

“You’re practically on fire,” she says matter-of-factly. She checks his temperature, hollows her cheeks when she reads the results, and looks down at Remus. “I’m going to page the doctor,” she says without telling him how high his fever is. “Sit tight.” With that she’s gone, leaving Remus alone, shivering against the darkness around him.

 

When he was sick with pneumonia, in the years before the pill and alcohol abuse got bad (or at least before Remus was able to understand what it was), his mother would sit with him in his hospital room, on his bed, holding him close to her and telling him all kinds of stories. Some of them were fairy tales, some of them were stories about her as a child, and some of them were just things she came up with off the cuff. It didn’t matter what the stories were, just that when she told them, Remus felt safe.

 

There is something about being sick, especially with fever, Remus realizes, that makes anyone, no matter how old they are, want to be held and taken care of--to be made to feel safe.

 

Lying in bed in the ICU, his temperature melting his insides and freezing him to death simultaneously, Remus expects to wish for his mother and her stories.

 

Instead, his mind, which has reverted back to childlike wants and fears, can only think one word, over and over, like the most desperate of metronomes.

 

_Sirius. Sirius. Sirus._

\---

 

On his way to Remus’ room the next morning, Sirius is intercepted by a distraught looking Lily. She looks like she is one straw on her shoulder away from collapsing into a heap, and Sirius knows this means nothing good.

 

“What is it?” he asks her without bothering with pleasantries. “What happened?”

 

“I got here just about an hour ago, and just got to talk to Lyall and Hope like, twenty minutes ago, so that’s why I haven’t called,” Lily says in a rush. “He’s sick though, Sirius.”

 

“He’s always sick,” Sirius says, not understanding, but Lily just shakes her head.

 

“No, not his heart. He’s got an infection. Pretty bad from what I can gather. I guess he woke up with a nasty temperature, and they put him on fever reducers and a round of antibiotics, but I guess it’s not doing much because his fever hasn’t broke, and he was having trouble breathing this morning. They put him on oxygen to help for now. They think the infection is spreading to his lungs and might be causing the start of pneumonia.”

 

“What?” Sirius says, stricken. “But he was fine. Just yesterday morning, he was fine.”

 

“He had a low-grade fever yesterday, but they didn’t think it was anything. Probably it was the start of the infection, and because Remus is Remus, he didn’t tell anyone when he started to feel worse, until he was nearly dead in the middle of the night.”

 

Sirius runs a hand through his hair, a million thoughts going through his head. “Have you seen him?” he asks. “Or are they not letting in visitors? I don’t know...what’s the protocol with infection?”

 

“I haven’t seen him, and neither have his parents, but the doctors and nurses aren’t keeping us out. He is.”

 

“What do you--”

 

“Apparently all night, and now all morning, he’s only been asking for one person.” Lily gives him a significant look.

 

“Who, me?” he asks, incredulous. “He barely wanted me to see him getting better, and expressly asked me not to see him if he got sicker. That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Yeah, well, sounds like he’s changed his mind. That, or the fever has made him delirious.”

 

“I guess,” says Sirius, at a loss.

 

“Are you just gonna stand there, then?” Lily asks sharply.

 

“What?”

 

“He wants to see you, are you gonna let him, or are you just going to stand here?”

 

Sirius opens his mouth to say something Lily, but falters. Instead he just shrugs, and mutters an, “Okay then,” and shoulders past Lily to Remus’ room.

 

Somehow it’s even worse than seeing him right after his surgery--the oxygen tank and the cannula in Remus’ nose makes the scene about ten times scarier than before--but Sirius refuses to let his face show this. He sets his jaw, and reminds himself, once again, that everything in this room is here to keep Remus healthy, and it’s nothing he should be afraid of.

 

He sits himself awkwardly in the chair beside the bed, and takes Remus’ hand in his, as has become habit.

 

“Did they tell you I’ve been whining for you like a baby all morning, or did you just show up on your own,” Remus mutters, and Sirius startles.

 

“I thought you were asleep,” he says.

 

“Can’t,” Remus says weakly, looking at Sirius through half-lidded eyes. “I can only sleep in half hour intervals. Besides, every time I do I have nightmares.” He coughs, and it registers a little too deep in his chest for Sirius’ liking. “Not good,” he says.

 

“Definitely not good,” Sirius agrees.

 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Remus mumbles.

 

“Question? Oh. I was coming anyway, but Lily found me in the hall and told me you had a bit of a rough night.”

 

“Mm,” Remus says, which Sirus interprets to mean, ‘understatement.’

 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Sirius says, pressing his lips to Remus’ knuckles. “But I thought you said you didn’t want me to see you if you started getting sicker--only if you were getting better.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Remus says with another heavy cough, wincing and rubbing absently at the bandages still taped over his heart. “Turns out, sick me--sicker me, rather--disagrees with that sentiment.”

 

“Okay,” Sirius says. “Okay, so what does sicker Remus need from me, then?”

 

Remus smiles a little, the cannula in his nose jostling a little. “He needs you not to leave,” he says. “Not now, and maybe not ever, if you can manage it.”

 

Sirius pushes a foolish lump forming in his throat back down as he smiles at Remus. He leans up and kisses him very gently on the corner of his mouth.

  
“You silly fool, I’ve been telling you from the beginning,” he whispers against Remus’ skin. “That’s all I’ve wanted to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **i hate that nurse as much as remus does tbh
> 
> **no one has asked thus far, but jsyk, a lot of the medical shit i write about is based around personal hospital experiences, my minimal college knowledge as a pre-nursing student, and a lot of consulting of The Oracle (google). feel free to be like, "that makes no fucking sense," to me, if something makes no fucking sense.
> 
> **someone asked me last chapter if "a life worth living" is a real book bc they wanted to read it. i am sorry to tell u that it is just a figment of my imagination, and the little bits u see here, mixed with the few pages of scribbled random quotes i have in my fic notebook, are all that exist of it in real life
> 
> **this chapter will springboard us very nicely into the next chapter (which i am soooo excited for omfg), which will springboard us very nicely into the climax of this story, so basically what i'm saying here is that there are three more chapters and an epilogue left, and then we are finito. the end is nigh
> 
> **the last two chapters and the epilogue will be uploaded all at once, forewarning. i will say this again in the next update
> 
> **to those of u who comment and message me on tumblr, thank u so much
> 
> **oh, you didn't know i had a tumblr? silly me, should have said something. here, it's severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> **ilu


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which remus is really sick sometimes, not as sick at other times, and everyone thinks about death a bunch

Remus wakes up to Sirius’ hand gently nudging his shoulder, and he blinks up into the familiar face, and for a brief millisecond he forgets he’s in a hospital. Of course, the illusion doesn’t last, the biggest give away being the mask covering Sirius’ nose and mouth.

 

“I hate that they’re making you wear that,” Remus mutters sleepily, and the corners of Sirius’ eyes crinkle when he smiles.

 

“Gotta play it safe, my infection-riddled love,” Sirius says. They started making Sirius wear a face mask whenever he visited Remus when Pomfrey caught them kissing and threatened to throw Sirius and his ‘germ-filled mouth’ out into the snow.  

 

“Mm.” Remus closes his eyes and burrows down into his pillow further. “What’d you wake me up for?” he asks grumpily.

 

“You were having a nightmare again,” says Sirius, running fingers through Remus’ messy and knotted mop of curls. “How do you feel? Is your fever up again?” He places the back of his hand to Remus’ forehead, as though he can read his temperature better than the nurses who check on him every half hour. Remus would laugh if it didn’t take so much effort.

 

“I feel fine,” he says, which is a lie, of course, he feels like hell, but to be fair, he has felt like hell since he came into the hospital over a week ago.

 

The past few days, Remus has been at a standstill with his intravenous antibiotics. They have been preventing him from getting worse, but he also hasn’t gotten much better. His fever, which started out at a brain boiling level, has fallen down to an average, brain simmering level, but his infection, which thankfully hasn’t attacked his heart, ( _yet_ , Remus thinks cynically), has taken root inside his lungs.  

 

“Yeah?” Sirius asks skeptically. “You sure? I can call the nurse if you need me to.”

 

“The last thing I need is more fucking nurses,” Remus snaps in his drugged and groggy voice. “I said I feel fine, okay?” The hand in his hair stills, and Remus sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters, eyes still closed.

 

“Don’t apologize,” says Sirius quietly, resuming his gentle touch. “We’ve all been crazily on edge. Last night Lily yelled at me for ten minutes because I knocked over her glass of milk in the cafeteria, and I nearly bit James’ head off because he took too long in the shower this morning, it was ridiculous. But none of us have more right to be grouchy than you do, and you’re probably the most patient of us all.”

 

Remus looks at Sirius through half-lidded eyes. “I just hate it here,” he says, the exhaustion heavy in his voice. “I wasn’t supposed to be in the ICU this long. Or, at least I was supposed to be getting better.”

 

“I know,” Sirius says, but Remus shakes his head. Those are just words.

 

“You don’t know,” he says firmly, but not unkindly. “You couldn’t know. And I’m glad you don’t, because it’d mean you’d be sick, and I don’t want you to be sick, but...I don’t know.” He runs the hand not full of IVs over his face, and mutters, “It’s very hard to have a body that doesn’t want to be alive.”

 

“Your body wants to be alive,” insists Sirius. “It just needs help doing it, is all.”

 

“No,” Remus says, and then he coughs. It’s heavy and deep, radiating through his chest that already feels torn apart. He coughs and almost laughs while he does. “A body that wants to live,” he says when he’s caught his breath. “Doesn’t do this. It doesn’t stop working in bookshops, or contract nasty bacteria and then refuse to fight it. No, my body wasn’t built right, Sirius, it’s not made to do what bodies are supposed to do. It’s like living in a house that doesn’t know how to be a house. Not a house that’s old and worn out through years of living, but a new house with shoddy infrastructure, that you try to fix by putting buckets under the leaky holes, and duct tape on all the falling pieces of drywall. But you can’t fix a house like that when the problems are in its bones, you know?”

 

Remus can’t see all of Sirius’ expression underneath the mask, but he knows it’s probably one flush with concern.

 

“You are very good at metaphors,” Sirius says. “But you’re not a house, Remus, and even if you were--you don’t fix a house by knocking it down. You fix it by replacing the parts that are broken, that’s all.”

 

“Only if you can find the parts you need to replace,” Remus says pointedly, and Sirius doesn’t reply.

 

“Sorry,” Remus says again a minute later. “I’m just tired.”

 

“I know,” says Sirius. “Or, well, I mean it’s understandable.”

 

“Can you read to me?” asks Remus, and Sirius nods, visibly happy to be able to be of some use. He reaches over on the side table where they’ve been keeping their book, and opens up to where they last left off. Remus had insisted they start from the beginning, so Sirius still hasn’t finished his initial reread, but he prefers reading it aloud to Remus anyway.

 

Remus, sleepy and ill, settles back in and lets himself relax.

 

Sirius reads.

 

\---

 

Sirius hates going home in the evening knowing Remus is alone in the hospital, especially since that time Remus contracted pneumonia overnight. Even though Pomfrey, who works the nights regularly, would never let him sit at Remus’ side until morning, Sirius would still rest easier if he could at least be nearby, like in the waiting room, or, preferably, in a heap by Remus’ doorway.

 

Remus doesn’t like it, though. Every night they have the same, brief argument--where Remus insists he’ll still be there in the morning, and Sirius is too embarrassed to say he’s afraid that he actually won’t be, and what if he’s not there when he goes? Naturally, since Sirius never actually says anything, Remus always wins, and Sirius is forced to go home to his flat that he only occupies as an occasional resident at this point.

 

Tonight, it’s half past ten when he gets home, and James is on the couch, pointedly Not Waiting On Him. Sirius groans inwardly. He’s been a shit friend for weeks now, what with the breakup, and now this, and he knows James understands this, but also it’s James, and James is much too healthy for his own good. James likes to talk about problems, and thinks it’s a bad idea to bottle emotions, which Sirius simply finds absurd. But seeing James sitting on the couch, catching his eye as he comes through the door, Sirius has a feeling James is going to lasso him into a Talk, and that is about the last thing Sirius wants tonight.

 

“How’s Remus?” James asks casually, as though he has no ulterior motive.

 

“They just started him on a stronger antibiotic this afternoon. I guess his infection was becoming resistant to the other one or something.”

 

“So this one will get rid of the pneumonia, then?”

 

“Well, that’s the idea, yeah. He wasn’t taking to it so well, though. It upset his stomach. I spent a lot of the evening helping him vomit into a bedpan,” Sirius says, grimacing at the memory.  

 

“Who would have thought, Sirius Black, of the Noble and Ancient Blacks, reduced to a bedpan holder,” says James lightly, and Sirius forces a smile. “That sucks though,” James adds. “He’ll adjust to it, right?”

 

“Hope so,” says Sirius. “Can’t really fight off an infection without antibiotics.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but he knows his persistent, underlying worry shows through by the way James looks at him.

 

“Come here,” he says. “Sit a spell, I wanna talk to you.”

 

“James,” says Sirius warningly.

 

“Yeah, I know, you’re tired. Just for a few minutes, okay?”

 

Sirius makes a very big show of how displeased he is with the idea, groaning loudly, and dragging his feet along the carpet, but he does go, and plops himself down beside James on the couch.

 

“What?” he asks, glaring at the ceiling.

 

“How are you doing?” asks James, and Sirius sighs.

 

“I’m fine, James.”

 

“Yeah?” says James skeptically. “You sure?”

 

Sirius has a brief moment, remembering his conversation with Remus several hours prior, where he evaluates just how similar he and James really are. It’s great when executing pranks, but damn isn’t it a nuisance when it comes to emotions, he thinks to himself.

 

“What do you want me to say?” Sirius grumbles to the ceiling.

 

“The truth,” James says simply. “I just want to know how you’re doing. But like, how you’re doing for real.”

 

Sirius considers the question.

 

He finds that he hasn’t actually assessed his own feelings since Remus landed in the hospital--not really, at least. He’s has a vague idea of things. This situation feels bad; this situation feels sad; this situation feels scary, etc, but he hasn’t taken the time to process any of those thoughts.

 

In truth, it’s not something he’s been permitted to do--he couldn’t risk it. Remus being sick--and let’s be frank, he is very, very sick--is easily the worst thing that has ever happened to Sirius. At least when his parents disowned him, he had the sanctity of James and his parents to soften the blow. With this, everything is new, and terrible, and scary, and he absolutely can’t voice any of this to Remus. Because Sirius still lives in constant fear that at the slightest sign of of sadness, Remus will decide that Sirius can’t handle seeing him sick, and will cast him out again, and that, Sirius thinks very resolutely, cannot ever happen.

 

But the truth is that it is sad; _he_ is sad. Of course he is. Every minute he’s not at work, or at home trying and failing to sleep, he’s in the hospital watching the person he’s in love with fight a losing battle with his own body.

 

This afternoon, he read a book about death to a boy who every forty minutes would have to ask him to stop, while he heaved over a bedpan, embarrassed and in pain, hacking up the tiny bits of food he managed to force down, a new IV added to his collection to keep him hydrated, because nothing would stay in his belly long enough to give him any sort of strength, and all Sirius could do was watch.

 

It is, all of it, very sad.

 

The realization of this feels sharp and painful, and Sirius doesn’t very much appreciate James bringing it up.

 

“I’m fine,” Sirius repeats, but it comes out shaky and unconvinced.

 

James looks at Sirius, raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes. One eyebrow raise, and everything Sirius has been feeling, or rather, purposely not been feeling, floods his entire person. Wracked with an overwhelming grief he didn't even know he was carrying, Sirius bursts into tears.

 

James says nothing. He is unsurprised, as though this was the response he had been waiting for. He pulls Sirius towards him, wraps him in a brotherly embrace, and lets him cry.  

 

And cry he does, harder than he has in a very long time. He can’t remember the last time he let himself cry like this--an all encompassing cry, that uses his whole body; makes him gulp for air. It feels like a detox, and even as his head begins to hurt, and his sinuses clog, he starts to feel lighter.

 

“I love Remus,” James says to the top of Sirius’ head as Sirius starts to get control of himself. “I really do, and not just because you do too. I like who he is as a person, he’s my friend. But listen, you can’t let what’s happening to him do this to you.”

 

“What am I supposed to do?” asks Sirius, pulling away, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “I’m not going to leave him.”

 

“I’m not telling you to,” says James. “I would never tell you to do that, I know you have to be there, but you can’t keep this from him.”

 

“Keep what from him?” asks Sirius naively, and James purses his lips and gestures at Sirius’ general presence.

 

“This,” he says. “These feelings. You can’t pretend like everything is peachy when you’re obviously worked up. I mean, it’s not unreasonable. It’s a hard situation, you’re not expected to be happy about it. I mean, Lily is in tears almost every night I’m with her.”

 

“Yeah, but Remus doesn’t need that,” Sirius says. “And besides, if he sees me like this he’ll think I can’t handle everything, and I can. I have been.”

 

“If by handling everything, you mean completely neglecting your own needs, then yeah, sure,” says James.

 

“I’ve been doing the best that I can,” says Sirius defensively, and James holds up a hand.

 

“I know,” he says. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, and I’m not saying you should go weep at Remus’ beside every time you see him, but like, the dude is dying, Sirius. I mean, I know you know that. I know that’s what you’re scared of--that this pneumonia will get worse, or if it doesn’t, that his heart will give out before there’s a transplant--I understand. Lily has the same concerns. Hell, _I_ have the same concerns. I care about him too. But you can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t bother you. I don’t think Remus wants you to. Just...try to keep an open dialogue, okay? Be frank with each other.”

 

“He might live,” Sirius feels the need to point out, even though a part of him feels like a child trying to make a persuasive argument to an adult. “The VAD, the thing in his chest, it can keep a heart working for a long time, years even, I was asking the nurse about it the other day when Remus was sleeping. If he can kick this infection, then there’s a good chance he can hold out until a transplant.”

 

“I believe that,” says James. “And I hope to God that’s what happens. But just be upfront with your fears, okay? And encourage Remus to be upfront with his. You guys are fucking fantastic at the sappy monologue shit, so just, I don’t, keep that going. Stop bottling shit, I got stuff to do, I can’t sit here and make you cry every couple weeks.”

 

Sirius laughs. “You and Pete could take turns,” he suggests.

 

“Nah,” says James. “Pete’s a sympathy crier. I’d come home and the two of you will have flooded the flat.” James stands up and hits Sirius across the knee. “It’ll be okay, alright?” he says.

 

“Alright,” Sirius says, and having looked to James for support since he was eleven years old, his inclination is to believe it. The child in him thinks that if James says it, it must be true.

 

It’ll be okay, he thinks.

 

\---

 

Halloween, which normally acts as just another excuse for a Marauder’s house party, this year finds Sirius yet again at the hospital, which, at this point, has become almost like a second home.

 

A shitty second home, but a second home nonetheless.

 

“You don’t have to stay here with me tonight,” says Remus for the hundredth time. His cheeks are flushed with color, which is such a better sight to see than the pale, greyish complexion he’s been sporting for weeks, and although he’s still attached to too many devices for Sirius’ liking, there are a couple less tubes and things sticking out from him now, and it’s nice.

 

They, the doctors and nurses, have been through several antibiotics with Remus, steadily increasing the strength which each, and the most recent one finally has Remus beginning to show improvement. It was explained to Sirius as a, “Not Out of the Woods,” situation, but with Remus looking visibly better, and Sirius having spent the past several weeks in an anxious stupor, he’s deciding to take it as good news.

 

“Getting drunk at some dumb party is not as fun if I don’t have you to hit on,” Sirius says, absent-mindedly massaging Remus’ hand, reveling in the fact that Remus’ skin no longer feels as clammy and hot with fever.

 

“Really though,” Remus insists. “You’re here all the time, and my parents said they were going to come by early tomorrow, you really don’t have to stay. It’s been ages since you’ve properly hung out with James and Peter.”

 

This is true, of course--being Remus’ bedside partner has become a near full-time job--but for once, keeping an eye on his boyfriend isn’t Sirius’ only motivation for wanting to spend his free time at the hospital.

 

The truth of the matter is that Remus isn’t his only friend who is stuck in the hospital, and any party back at home will have the noticeable absence of Frank and Alice, and probably Marlene, and Sirius isn’t sure how he feels about that, and he isn’t sure he wants to find out.

 

Since Remus got sick, Sirius has been painfully aware that two of his other close friends have been just floors away from him, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to go see them. It’s been well over a month since he has so much as even texted Marlene, and as for Frank and Alice, his knowledge of their current conditions remains minimal.

 

He feels guilty about it, but he can’t help it.

 

He remembers, a very long time ago, when he was just a boy, and he went to visit his Dad’s mother. A decrepit and batty old woman, Sirius was forced to sit and listen to her ramble on for ages about all her friends who were sick, or dead, or in need of new hip, and Sirius hadn’t thought much of it at the time. That is, after all, what happens to old people. They get sick. They die.

 

But between Remus toeing the “Not Out of the Woods” line, Frank and Alice being completely unrecognizable as the people Sirius once knew them as, and Marlene acting like a devastated widow, Sirius is being forced on the daily to realize that sickness and death isn’t just for the old. Sometimes it’s for the young.

 

There was a day, sometime during Remus’ second week in the ICU, when a boy was brought in to the bed next door. He was their age, maybe younger, and his heart had inexplicably failed. Sirius knew it was inexplicable, because he heard the doctor murmuring about it to a nurse when he was going down to the cafeteria that morning.

 

Then, and still now, it had astounded Sirius. Remus, who was sick since birth, was one thing, but the idea of a seemingly healthy boy--a boy who could have been in his class, a boy he could have befriended at the bar, or met at a party--having his heart stop for no reason any doctors can figure, sent a deep and primal fear through Sirius.

 

How close, he was forced to wonder, is anyone to dying at any given moment? How close, he thought, was he?

 

The boy with the mystery heart coded late in the afternoon that day. His mother’s wailing could be heard all throughout the ward. Remus, young in age, but ancient in his dealings with death, merely seemed regretful, meanwhile Sirius silently dealt with an unexpected wave of existential terror as he listened through the thin wall to the doctors unplugging the heart monitor, silencing the long, monotonous tone of absent pulse.

 

Yes, sometimes death and dying is for the young, but Sirius has come to find that he prefers not to think about it, if he can help it.

 

(Hard to do when you spend most of your time in a hospital with your dying boyfriend, certainly, but damned if he doesn’t try.)

 

“Please,” says Sirius. “Pomfrey isn’t working tonight. That means I won’t get kicked out when it gets too late. I’m staying right here to see what all you get up to once I leave at night.”

 

“Oh yeah, I bet you can’t wait,” says Remus dryly. “You get to watch me eat supper and sleep. Don’t party too hard, now.”

 

“You sleeping is still a right better sight to see than walking in on James and Lily drunk fucking on the kitchen counter again,” Sirius says, and Remus cracks a smile.

 

“Yeah, well, the nurses won’t let you stay the whole night, so you probably should still mentally prepare yourself for that, just in case.”

 

“Way to crush my spirit there, babe.”

 

“Hey, I’m just being practical.”

 

Sirius laughs, leaning back in his chair.

 

“Don’t feel bad, though, okay?” he says. “Really, I’d rather be here.”

 

“Dunno why,” Remus says with a sigh. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t know why you would. But whatever, if you insist on staying, then I’ll stop trying to convince you to leave. I just think it’s a shame, though, that neither of us is celebrating. I mean, how sad. Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I’m stuck here.” He gestures towards his plethora of hospital machinery to indicate just how stuck he is.

 

“Really?” asks Sirius.

 

“Really what?”

 

“Halloween is your favorite holiday?”

 

“Mhm,” says Remus. “Why? Is that surprising?”

 

“Well, yeah, kinda. I mean, no offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the costume-wearing, trick-or-treating sort of guy.”

 

Remus gives a scoff. “What, can I only appreciate Halloween if I wear a costume and proceed to solicit sweets from strangers?”

 

“I mean, no,” says Sirius. “But I mean, that’s kind of what the holiday is about, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh, I dunno,” says Remus, somewhat wistfully. “I find the whole thing kind of poetic, honestly.”

 

“Of course you do,” Sirius says, laughing. Of course Remus would find something poetic on a day where everything is about monsters and the like.

 

Remus, pointedly ignoring Sirius’ quip, continues on, saying, “I mean, maybe it’s a sick person thing, but there’s something to be said about a holiday that centers around the relationship between the living and the dead.”

 

“Is that what it’s about, then?” asks Sirius cheekily. “I just thought it was another excuse to get sloshed on a weekday.”

 

“Well, that’s a plus, sure,” Remus says with a small side grin. “But Halloween--if you want to get technical about it--is supposed to be about the dead. It’s the time some people believe The Veil, or whatever you want to call it, is supposed to be thinnest, and I dunno, I’ve always like that idea.”

 

“You mean the idea that demons and ghosts can get us way easier on Halloween?” Sirius teases.

 

“That, yeah, definitely,” Remus says, shaking his head fondly. “That, and also the idea that all that’s separating us from each other is some...unseen layer, and that, if only for one night, there’s a way to cross through it.”

 

“And by ‘us’ you mean the living and the dead?”

 

“Yeah,” says Remus simply.

 

Sirius is conflicted. On the one hand, this is getting into territory he prefers to avoid most days, but also, Remus has been so sick over the past few weeks, that he’s hardly waxed poetic about anything at all, and Sirius missed it. He’s missed hearing what grandiose thoughts Remus has on mundane things, and he wants to hear more.

 

He settles on saying, “I love the way you always manage to take even the simplest of things and find a way to analyze them and take them much too seriously than is usually warranted.”

 

Sirius realizes this sounds rude as it comes out, but Remus doesn’t seem bothered. He simply smiles and says, “I told you ages ago that if you stayed with me long enough, you’d come to find that I take everything seriously.”

 

“Yeah well,” Sirius says. “Are you gonna make the ‘serious’ joke here, or should I?”

 

“How about neither of us makes it, and we just pretend we did,” Remus suggests, grinning broadly, and Sirius smiles back.

 

Sirius considers what’s been said. He thinks about The Veil, about the relationship between the living and the dead, and he realizes that he’s spent so long sitting with Remus, watching him fight death, and yet he has no idea how he feels about the subject.

 

This, of course, is the sort of thing James was trying to point out--the thing he wanted Sirius to start a dialogue about. Sirius watches guilty at the opportunity sitting right before him, and decides to take the bait.

 

“Do you believe all that though?” he asks, pulling a Remus and refusing to meet his boyfriend’s eye.

 

“Do I believe all what?” Remus asks.

 

“I mean,” Sirius half shrugs his shoulders. “Do you...what do you think happens?”

 

“What? When we die?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I sort of asked you about it once, but that was more about what it felt like, but I guess, on a more philosophical level or whatever, what do you think about it?”

 

When Remus doesn't respond immediately, Sirius hazards a glance up at him to make sure he hasn’t inadvertently offended him, but finds that Remus just looks contemplative.

 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and doesn’t elaborate.

 

“You don’t know? That’s it?”

 

“Yeah,” says Remus. “That probably seems weird, huh? I’ve met other people like me--chronically ill people--who seem to fit into either extreme. Either they’re really, passionately against even the idea of an afterlife, or they’ve based their entire worldview on the certainty of one. But I’m not in either party, I don’t think. I’ve never bothered much with the idea of a God, but I also don’t feel qualified to make any assertions against one. So I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t feel qualified?” Sirius asks, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “But you’ve _actually_ _died_. If you’re not qualified, who is?”

 

“Dunno,” says Remus. “Nobody probably. Does that bother you?”

 

Sirius can’t help but let out a little humorless laugh. “It kind of scares the shit out of me, to be honest.” He feels a familiar knot tie up in his gut the deeper they get into this conversation. ‘Open dialogue,’ he remembers James insisting on, and he forces himself to continue. “How can something that everyone in the world has to go through be such a mystery? And how can--how can you be so calm about it, when you know that you’re probably gonna face it sooner than most?”

 

The look on Remus’ face is almost apologetic, as though he wishes he could offer Sirius some prophetic answer that would rid him of all his fears, and Sirius knows it’s unfair to wish that of anyone, especially Remus. It’s just that Remus is so eloquent and careful with his words--Sirius wants him to say the right thing to quell the dark pit in his stomach that shows up whenever Sirius thinks too hard about dying. About Remus dying. About James or Peter dying. About himself dying.

 

“I’m just not fussed, I guess,” says Remus. “It’s like I have to work so hard at staying alive, that it hardly seems worth it to worry about death too.”

 

“Death seems so much harder than living,” says Sirius.

 

Remus opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by his young nurse, carrying a dinner tray. She has on an angel halo on her head as a costume, and Sirius wonders if it’s a bit tasteless for a critical care unit.

 

“Here,” she says, after she’s done checking Remus’ vitals. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of chocolate and places it on Remus’ dinner tray next to his milk carton. “The kids in the pediatric ward who are well enough are going around the hospital trick-or-treating with all the nurses,” she explains. “If you eat all your supper, you can have that for dessert as a reward for keeping your fever down all day.”

 

“You know I don’t have any control over how high or low my fever gets, right?” asks Remus, hand already pulled out of Sirius’ grasp and reaching for the chocolate.

 

“Do you want the candy or not?” says the young nurse with a smug look on her face.

 

“I definitely want it,” says Remus. “I’ll shut up.”

 

The nurse clicks her tongue, and then turns on her heel to continue her rounds. Remus smiles vaguely after her.

 

“She’s growing on me a bit,” he says. “Angel though? That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?”

 

“That’s what I was thinking,” Sirius agrees. “Didn’t she say you could only eat that after you ate all your supper?” he teases, watching Remus tear off the candy wrapper like he hasn’t seen chocolate in years.

 

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “This is also another reason why Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. No one tells you chocolate is bad for your heart health.”

 

“I knew it,” says Sirius, and Remus just shrugs.

 

“You try living off of this hospital shit and see how you feel when they let you have real food.”

 

“I hardly think chocolate counts as real food, but whatever you say, love.”

 

Remus eats in silence for a few minutes, and Sirius blanks off into space.

 

“Were you for real though?” he asks when he brings himself back to reality.

 

“About what?” Remus asks, picking at some sort of meat and gravy situation on his tray.

 

“About death,” Sirius says. “Does it really not scare you?’

 

Remus meets his eye and shakes his head.

 

“‘Death is not a harm,’” he says in the voice he uses whenever he’s quoting something.

 

“That from the book?” Sirius asks.

 

“Yeah, the ending, don’t you remember?” When Sirius shakes his head, Remus waves a hand and says, “Ah, well, we’ll get there.”

 

“Alright,” says Sirius, feeling funny, mind still stuck on death. Remus regards him for a moment, and then sets down his fork.

 

“Look,” he says. “If death bothers you, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a pretty common fear. Maybe the most common. Don’t feel invalidated because I’m some kind of weirdo. Everyone fears dying, it’s natural.”

 

“Everyone except you,” Sirius points out, and Remus shrugs.

 

“No, death never has been the thing that scares,” he agrees. “Living has always been the thing that gets to me.”

 

\---

 

Finally, in the second week of November, Remus is declared infection free and officially Out of the Woods.

 

His name once again becomes a viable candidate on the heart transplant list, and the doctors and nurses shift their focus from keeping Remus alive, to teaching Remus how to live with his implant until a heart becomes available.

 

“We’ll be able to transfer you out of the ICU tomorrow,” the doctor says.

 

Remus, who is surrounded by his parents, Lily, Sirius, James, and Peter, lifts his arms up, and gives a hearty, “Hooray!” before dropping his arms back down and rubbing at his chest, mumbling, “Ow.”

 

He will, the doctor informs him, have to stay in the hospital for a couple more weeks at least, but he will have his own room, and considerably more independence, and Remus, having spent the last month forgetting what the word privacy even means, happily takes what he can get.

 

He feels good--or at least better--and finally has a little bit of energy and stamina built up. He’s been running on empty, and it’s nice to have a little bit of drive in him.

 

Mid-afternoon, Remus finds himself all alone. Lily is in class, Sirius is at work, and he managed to get his parents off his tail for a few hours, and now he isn’t sure what to do with himself.

 

“Can I take a walk?” Remus asks his young nurse when she comes in to check on him sometime around four. He’s feeling antsy. His nurse raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“You’re actually volunteering?” she asks, and Remus rolls his eyes.

 

“I’ve got cabin-fever,” he says. “Pretty please?”

 

“Well, I don’t mind,” says his nurse. “Go ahead and stroll around the ward, I won’t stop you.”

 

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d let me go up to Neurology,” says Remus hopefully.

 

“Neurology? Why?”

 

“I’ve got a couple of friends up in long-term care that I haven’t seen since they were admitted,” he explains. “It’s just a floor above us, and the elevator is right down the hall. I’ll be careful.”

 

The young nurse regards him for a moment, before shrugging, and saying, “Be back before shift change at five, or else Pomfrey will have your ass. You’re supposed to be getting out of here tomorrow, and I want to make sure you do, got me?”

 

“I got you,” Remus says, already helping himself out of bed. It’s a slow process, but he’s thrilled that he’s able to do it by himself. They’ve lowered his pain medication, and his chest doesn’t feel great, but it’s manageable. To Remus, manageable is synonymous with fantastic.

 

Remus makes his way to the elevator, dragging his various machines with him, feeling like an old man hunched over a walker, and hits the button to take him up to the Neurological Unit where Alice and Frank, to the best of his knowledge, are still being rehabilitated after their accident several months ago.

 

He goes up to an admission’s nurse. “Are Frank and Alice Longbottom still here?” he asks, and he’s directed to a ward at the far end of the hall.

 

He peeks into one room that has the door cracked, and sees Alice curled up in bed, napping. She sleeps like a cat, rolled up into herself in a circle, a peaceful blankness over her face. All the external signs of trauma from the accident are gone from her skin. If Remus didn’t know better--but of course he does--he’d say she seemed perfectly healthy.

 

He lets her be, and goes to the room next door.

 

“Oh, hello,” he says when he pokes his head inside and is surprised to find Mrs. Longbottom sitting on a chair leafing through a large hardcover book in her lap. She looks up at him and squints, as though recognizing him, but not remembering from where.

 

“Remus?” she says after a moment. “Remus, right? You’re friends with Marlene and Sirius Black?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and suddenly becomes very aware of his own appearance. He has barely looked at himself in a mirror in weeks, knowing if he did he’d be mortified. His hospital gown is so short that his knobby knees are poking out, and instead of proper shoes, he has on fuzzy socks and little booties.    
  


If Mrs. Longbottom is surprised to see Remus like this, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she says, “You were the one who said you’d been in and out of this hospital, weren’t you?”

 

“Yeah. Landed myself back in here near the beginning of October,” he explains. He gives the shorthand version of the story, hitting just the highlights: The heart failure. The implant. The infection. The transplant list. Mrs. Longbottom gives him no pity, for which he’s thankful, and merely nods her head understandingly.

 

“Damn shame,” she mutters, setting her book aside and lacing her fingers in her lap, looking quite proper.

 

“I’ve been wanting to come up and see Alice and Frank for ages, but I’ve just not been well enough. I had to beg my nurse to let me come up here today, even,” he says.

 

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” says Mrs. Longbottom. “Frank and Alice don’t get too many visitors, except for Marlene of course, bless her soul.”

 

“Has...has Sirius not been up to see them?” Remus asks, and as he asks it, he knows the answer. He’s not sure why he’d just assumed Sirius had been popping up to see his other friends whenever he wasn’t with Remus, but it actually makes more sense that he hasn’t. Sirius, Remus has come to find, doesn’t like to be face-to-face with the fragility of life. Being with Remus has probably been hard enough on him--and Remus feels a pang of guilt at that--let alone dealing with Alice and Frank.

 

“Not that I’ve seen, no,” says Mrs. Longbottom, but she doesn’t sound bitter about this. “I understand, of course, it isn’t easy. Most people your age aren’t like you, Mr. Remus. You’re used to this sort of thing, but I think it scares your friends.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Remus mutters, not sure if Mrs. Longbottom hears him.

 

“No matter,” she says after a beat. “Alice is temperamental even on her best days, and Frank...well, it isn’t as though Frank knows the difference either way.”

 

It’s at this that Remus really notices Frank for the first time. He is largely unchanged from the last time Remus saw him. His eyes are open, but unseeing, his mouth slightly ajar, his chin in need of a shave, as he stares out at nothing at all. Sometimes he blinks. His chest moves as he breathes. But Frank--the Frank who danced with his wife on New Year’s Eve--is nowhere to be found.

 

“Sometimes I wonder about the ethics of all this,” Mrs. Longbottom says, and she furrows her brows together as though she is surprised she’s saying it. She gazes at her son with a mixed emotion casting over her face.

 

“The ethics of what?” asks Remus.

 

“Keeping him alive like this,” she says, glancing at him for a moment, before staring back at Frank. “He is effectively brain dead, you know. There is no chance of recovery. But Alice, she wouldn’t be able to understand if we took out his feeding tube and just let nature take its course, and God only knows if I could handle it. But then, there are people like you, who he could be of use to. He could even be your heart donor, if we all could just let go.”

 

“I could never accept that even in a hypothetical situation, Mrs. Longbottom,” says Remus, feeling ill at the thought.

 

“Yes, well, maybe not you, but others perhaps?”

 

Remus gets the distinct impression that Mrs. Longbottom has been waiting for someone to unload this baggage onto for sometime now. “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” he says, trying to sound as supportive as he can. “That’s not an easy choice for anyone to make. Especially not a mother.”

 

“He had no papers,” Mrs. Longbottom says. “I had thought, after Neville was born, that he would have had the brains to think into the future a bit, and consider all the possibilities of what might happen to him, but there’s nothing. I’ve no idea what he would have wanted in a situation like this.”

 

“I think most people don’t want to think about worst case scenarios if they can help it,” Remus says.

 

“Have you?” Mrs. Longbottom asks a bit sharply, refocusing her attention on Remus.

 

“I mean,” Remus says sheepishly. “I mean I’ve thought about it, but there’s nothing in terms of formal documentation. My parents act as my health care proxies, so if anything were to happen, it’s really up to them.”

 

“No,” says Mrs. Longbottom, shaking her head. “That’s no good. Don’t put selfish people in charge of your well-being.”

 

“Selfish people?”

 

“Parents aren’t going to be able to be objective. Trust me,” she adds, with a nod towards Frank. “If you want something specific, you have to put it in writing. I mean, really child, I thought you were a sensible one. Surely you of all people know how bad things can go?”

 

“I do,” Remus says earnestly. “I guess I just didn’t want to upset anyone with what I might choose.”

 

“That’s foolish,” says Mrs. Longbottom kindly. “Nobody should make decisions about your body except you.”

 

They talk for a few more minutes, before Remus feigns exhaustion, and heads back down to his own ward. He makes it back to his bed ten minutes before shift change, and decides to take a nap, both to appease Pomfrey, and to shut down his thoughts.

 

Mrs. Longbottom’s words left a funny feeling in the back of Remus’ throat. He’s never thought about putting anything in writing before, but the more he thinks about it, the more ridiculous it seems not to.

 

He’s certain, though, that the things he has to put down, are nothing anyone who loves him wants to hear.

 

\---

 

“I’m just being rational,” comes Remus’ raised voice from inside his room.

 

“No, a selfish prick is what you’re being,” comes Lily’s even louder reply.

 

Sirius hesitates outside the cracked door, unsure of whether or not to let himself in. Since Remus moved to this part of the hospital a week ago, he’s never had to ask permission to come inside, but whatever is going on between Lily and Remus sounds private.

 

“I know you’re angry, but shouting isn’t going to change my mind,” Remus says in a controlled tone.

 

“Angry?” says Lily, completely uncontrolled. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it, Remus Lupin, and I’ll shout as much as I damn well please.”

 

“Look, it doesn’t mean anything definitive,” Remus argues, and Sirius fumbles trying to follow the conversation. “It’s just a precaution, is all.”

 

“A precaution is when you wear a seatbelt in case you have an accident. This? This is the exact opposite of a precaution, Remus. How could you do this? Did you consider me at all? Or your parents. Or _Sirius_? How do you think he’ll feel about it?”

 

“With all due respect,” says Remus slowly. “I know you’re coming from a good place, but frankly, this isn’t your concern. It’s my decision, and that’s that.”

 

There’s a few beats of silence, before Lily all but shrieks, “ _That’s that_? Oh my fucking _Christ_ , are you selfish. You can’t do this to me, not now. Not when I need you.”

 

“You hardly need me, Lily, and besides, I’ve not gone anywhere.”

 

Sirius, thinking loitering outside eavesdropping is worse than interrupting, decides to knock on the door and step inside, just as Lily is saying, “No, you don’t get it, I _need_ you, because I’ve just found out--”

 

She stops mid-sentence, and turns to Sirius, blushing fiercely.

 

“Sirius,” Remus says, sounding a bit deflated. “How much of that did you hear?”

 

“Uh,” says Sirius uncomfortably. “Not much. You’re a selfish prick, apparently? Not really sure why.”

 

Remus sort of nods, as Lily spins to towards him, her arms crossed, looking severe. “Why don’t you tell him then?” she says bitterly. “If it’s none of our concern, why don’t you just tell him right now?”

 

“I’ll tell him,” Remus says to Lily, eyes like daggers as he stares her down. “But not here with you yelling in my ear. Go away, I don’t want you here right now.”

 

“Seriously?” Lily asks with a scoff.

 

“Seriously. Go. Come back when you’ve cooled off. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

 

Lily, looking positively homicidal, shakes her head, mouth dangling open, before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Sirius and Remus face each other, awkward in her absence. Sirius goes over and takes the chair next to Remus’ bed, and waits for him to speak first. When he doesn’t, Sirius says, “I’ve never heard Lily and you fight like that before.”

 

Remus, staring down at his lap, laughs humorlessly and says, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

 

“Ask…?” Sirius says, feigning innocent, and Remus looks up, his expression impatient.

 

“Ask about what that was all about,” he says pointedly. “I know you want to.”

 

“Well,” Sirius says. “Of course I do. I’ve never heard you shout before, so it’s gotta be something juicy, right?” He tries to laugh. “But I’m not...I won’t ask if you don’t want to say.”

 

“Fuck,” says Remus, burying his face in his hands, muttering something about, ‘not wanting to tell you this way.’ He stays like that for a full-minute, Sirius watching him whilst shifting around in his seat nervously. Finally, Remus pulls his head up. “I signed a DNR,” he says simply, as though trying to find a way to sugarcoat it isn’t worth the time.

 

“A DNR?” Sirius says slowly. “As in--”

 

“It’s a Do Not Resuscitate order,” Remus says, cutting Sirius off. “It means that if my heart should fail again, for any reason, the doctors and nurses are not allowed to bring me back.”

 

“Not allowed to bring you back?”

 

“They have to let me die, Sirius.”

 

Sirius draws a blank. He tries to think of something useful to say, only managing a small, “Oh.”

 

“You’re angry,” Remus says. “I know you are. I understand. It’s like I’m giving up, right? But it’s not really. With the VAD I probably won’t go into heart failure before they find me a new one, or if I do it’ll be a while. It’s not that I want to die, or anything like that, I’m not refusing transplant. I just...I just feel like if my body decides it’s time to go, it’ll be the fifth time, Sirius. That’ll be five times my body has tried to let go, and I’ve not let it, and I’m just so tired of fighting. It hurts to be brought back, you know? And I’m sick of hospitals. And I’m sick of being sick, and I just...I wanted some autonomy for myself, can you understand that.” He rambles on, breathing hard, hand over his chest where his plethora of scars are.

 

Sirius gapes at Remus for a long while. He tries to process how he feels, trying out James’ method of Not Bottling. He thinks about DNRs and what it would be like to have Remus’ heart give out, and to have to do nothing to stop it from happening. He finds that what he feels isn’t anger, nothing close, but concern. He leans over and kisses Remus on the mouth.

 

“You poor thing,” he murmurs, eyes closed. When he opens them, he looks at Remus directly and assures, “I am not angry.”

 

“...Oh?” Remus falters, who had been so prepared to defend himself.

 

“No, of course not,” Sirius breathes, pushing hair off of Remus’ forehead. “Of course not, how could I be? I just can’t imagine how hard for you that must of have been.”

 

“Hard for me?” asks Remus, surprised.

 

“Yeah, hard for you. Signing your name on something giving people permission to not save you? That must have sucked.”

 

Remus is completely expressionless for one long moment, and then his face crumples.

 

“Sorry,” he says, covering his tears with his hands, as Sirius pulls him into his chest and holds him there. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to be dramatic. It’s just that you’re the only person who...oh this sounds so stupid, but you’re the only person who’s seemed to care how I feel about it.”

 

“Lily was probably just in shock, she’ll come around,” says Sirius to the top of Remus’ head.

 

“Yeah, you think Lily was bad, you should have seen my mum,” Remus says in a watery voice.

 

“Did she yell?” Sirius, who has interacted with Mrs. Lupin only superficially over the past month and a half, can’t imagine her talking at a normal level, let alone shouting. She is a soft-spoken lady, made even more soft-spoken due to the fact that she is rarely ever sober.

 

“No,” says Remus. “She cried. For ages, and then when I saw her again, she was stoned out of her mind. That’s much worse than Lily. Dad wasn’t great either,” Remus adds, pulling away from Sirius and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “He just got mad at me for upsetting mum.”

 

“That’s foolish,” says Sirius. “You’re not doing it to hurt her.”

 

“No I’m not,” Remus agrees. “I’ve been doing some research, you know, and looking at paperwork for all kinds of things. Like, what would I want if I were in a vegetative state like Frank, or, you know, what are the sorts of things I’d deny treatment for--things like that.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were looking into that stuff?” asks Sirius, frowning.

 

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, but I didn’t exactly want to advertise it either. I was also afraid that if I talked about it before I signed it, I’d have not filled out the DNR, simply out of guilt. I mean, you saw how Lily was. I wasn’t sure how you’d react either. I guess I just thought it was something I had to figure out myself.”

 

“I get that,” says Sirius. “But don’t feel like you have to hide things like that from me, okay? I may not like it--Hell I hate the idea of you dying and doing nothing to stop it--but I’ll respect it, I promise. And I won’t get mad. I understand your reasoning, and you’re about a hundred times smarter than me, so who am I to question you? It’s your body, Remus, I won’t tell you what to do with it for my own gain.”

 

“Stop it,” Remus groans, pressing his knuckles against his cheekbones. “Don’t make me cry again, that first time was bad enough.”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t cry about it. You crying means people respecting you is a novel concept to you, and that’s no good.”

 

“I guess. No one means any harm by it, though. I mean, can I really get mad at people for them not wanting me to be dead?”

 

“Maybe not mad, but you can be frustrated, surely.”

 

“Well, I am that. It would be easier if my parents weren’t my health care proxies. I can never feel fully secure that they will do what I ask if it comes down to it. I’d rather you be it, honestly.” He says it offhandedly, but Sirius considers it.

 

“Why don’t you?”

 

“Why don’t I what?”

 

“Make me your health care proxy? You can do that right?”

 

Remus laughs. “I mean, I could, if I wanted my parents to get amazingly pissed off at me, yeah.”

 

“What’s there to get pissed off about?”

 

“Sirius,” Remus says with an air of amused incredulity. “Do you really think it would go over well if I went up to my mum and dad and said, ‘hey, sorry, I know you’ve been in charge of all my medical decisions since birth, but I actually don’t trust you, and am going to divert all legal power to my boyfriend I’ve been dating off and on for less than a year?’ Honestly, you’d have to be like, my husband or something for us to even possibly swing that without a major blowout.”

 

“Well…” Sirius says, and kind of shrugs at Remus, who promptly points at him and says,

  
“Stop that. Stop that train of thought immediately. That was 100% not what I was trying to imply.”

 

“I didn’t even say anything!” Sirius says defensively, even though he knows Remus knows exactly what he was thinking.

 

“Yeah, you better not have. I was crying like two minutes ago, don’t you dare try to capitalize on the dramatics of the moment by turning it into a marriage proposal,” says Remus, laughing.

 

“Would I be so crass?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. I was just saying that it would be better for all involved if I were your health care proxy. And I mean, if we have to go to some, I dunno, extreme lengths to do that, well, I think your health is worth it, don’t you?”

 

“Stop it,” says Remus warningly, but he’s grinning. “Besides,” he adds. “You know that would never work. I’m too much of a romantic. I could never accept a proposal based on legal convenience.”

 

“Ah, well, I’d never offer you one that wasn’t based entirely on love,” Sirius says. “Legal convenience would just be a perk. I should hope you know that.”

 

“I know that,” says Remus sincerely.

 

Sirius regards Remus for a long while. He’s no longer hooked up to a thousand different machines, and he’s got enough color in him that Sirius would almost call him healthy looking. He’s lost a little weight, and his face and collarbone are more pointed than before. But he’s still Remus. He’s playing with his hospital bracelet, spinning it around his wrist, still not sitting still after nearly year.

 

“I love you, you know?” Sirius says, nudging Remus’ arm. “And I’m sorry you have to go through this--any of this. Truly, no one in the world deserves it less than you.”

 

“It’s certainly not the best,” Remus says, giving a small, humble smile. “But at least I got you to help me make it through.”

  
“Always,” Sirius says, and even he is surprised to find how much he means it. “I’ll be here always,” he emphasizes, and has to stop himself from adding, “Until death do us part.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heyoo, we are getting close to the end! the next update with have the last two chapters and the epilogue all at once. i am not sure how long that will take. i don't trust myself to even speculate. but soon. we will be at the end very, very soon
> 
> **i love all of you, and the ppl who tell me nice things about my writing are amazing and the world doesn't deserve you
> 
> ***i am so tired
> 
> ****severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> *****i feel like i'm forgetting something, but who knows what. k byee


	12. Chapter 12

Some time later, Remus decides to take a nap, and Sirius finds himself down in the cafeteria with a cup of watery coffee, where he happens on Lily, sitting at a table, staring at her hands.

 

“Can I sit?” he asks as he approaches her. She startles.

 

“Whatever,” she says once she’s regained composure. She tucks her hair behind her ears, and sits up straighter. 

 

“So,” says Sirius after a moment. “He told me.”

 

“Yeah?” Lily replies. “Were you able to knock some sense into him, then?”

 

“No, but that’s because I didn’t think he needed it. It seemed sensible to me.”

 

He expects Lily to get defensive. He braces himself for her rebuttal, but instead she just deflates. She sighs heavily, rubbing her hands over her face. “Yeah,” she breathes, looking tired. 

 

Sirius regards her for a second, before reaching over and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He’s not doing it to punish us,” he says softly. “I think he’s just tired, and I mean, can we really blame him?”

 

“No,” Lily says in begrudging agreement. “No, I understand why. I just...It scares me.” 

 

“Scares me too,” Sirius says. “More than anything in the world, it scares me. But I mean, as much as it scares us, my guess is it’s about a thousand times scarier for him. It is his life on the line, after all.”

 

“Yeah,” Lily says again. She shies away from Sirius’ touch, and puts her forehead on the table, groaning. 

 

“It also doesn’t mean anything is going to happen,” Sirius feels the need to say, for as much his own sake as Lily’s. “With any luck, they’ll find him a heart before we ever have to even think about the DNR. It’s like he said--just a precaution.”

 

“I know,” Lily mumbles to the table.

 

“There is still every chance that we’ll be stuck with him for several more years, yet, so there’s no sense getting riled up over nothing.”

 

“I know,” Lily says again.

 

“We just have to be supportive,” Sirius says, mostly to himself at this point. “He’s got enough on his plate without all our baggage too.”

 

Lily sits back up and meets Sirius’ eye. “I know,” she says for a third time. “Honestly, I do, and I’m sorry I yelled at him, and I will go apologize, I will, it’s just...I’m just a little overwhelmed right now. There’s...a lot going on, is all, and I’m..emotional.”

 

“Well, yeah, that’s understandable. We’re all a little high strung.”

 

“That’s not...” Lily starts, rethinks whatever it is she was going to say, and waves a dismissive hand.

 

“That’s not what? Something else bothering you?” Sirius asks, furrowing his brow as Lily grows a little red in the cheeks.

 

“It’s nothing,” she says a little too quickly. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

 

“What?” asks Sirius. “What doesn’t matter right now?”

 

“Sirius,” Lily says warningly, and Sirius shrugs.

 

“Just saying, if something is bothering you, you can tell me,” he says. “We’re mates, yeah? Besides, I’d rather you unload on me than on Remus.” 

 

“I’m not unloading on Remus,” Lily says defensively. “The DNR thing just caught me off guard.” She is a brilliant shade of scarlet at this point, and Sirius, now fully convinced there’s something she’s not telling him, eyes her suspiciously. 

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says slowly. “If you’re sure there’s nothing else going on?”

 

“I’m fine,” she says evasively, and Sirius grins.

 

“That’s a Remus tactic, that is,” he says fondly. “Answering a question I didn’t ask. But whatever! If you don’t want to tell me what’s up, I won’t pry. I’ve had plenty of drama for one day anyway.” He shakes his head at her. “Honestly, Lils, you’re acting likes James knocked you up or something.” 

 

It takes Sirius a minute to realize that Lily isn’t laughing at his joke with him. In fact, she is looking very deer-in-the-headlights, her cheeks matching the color of her hair. The smile on Sirius’ face fades as he processes what this means.

 

“No,” he says abruptly. “No way. No.” 

 

“James is going to be so pissed that you found out from me and not him,” she says, and Sirius just shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says, sounding like a broken record. “No. Lily, no, come on!” He presses his fingers to his temples, feeling a little hysterical. “I just said, didn’t I? I  _ just _ said I’ve had plenty of drama for one day, and you roll this out on me?” he mutters. 

 

“Well, in my defense I wasn’t going to tell you right now. Actually, I wasn’t going to tell you at all. James was in charge of telling you and Peter, and I was supposed to tell Remus, which I was  _ going _ to do, but then he pulled out the whole DNR thing, and…” she trails off, shrugging sheepishly. 

 

“You dumbasses,” Sirius says, squeezing his eyes shut. “You two are the ones at Uni. You’re supposed to be the smart ones. How…? Don’t you know better? What happened?!” Sirius finds himself demanding. 

 

“I mean,” says Lily, having the sense to look embarrassed. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’ Tequila happened. Poor decisions happened. Didn’t think much of it, and didn’t take necessary precautions happened. Pretty standard story, Sirius, I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

 

“I want you to say this is an April Fool,” Sirius says, running his hand through his hair so hard he pulls out a few strands.

 

“It’s nearly December,” Lily says deadpanned. “Look, it’s not--this isn’t your responsibility. You worry about Remus, let me and James sort this whole...thing out.” 

 

“ _ Thing _ ?” Sirius says. “You mean baby? Small human being you’re going to be responsible for? I mean, unless...what are you guys going to do, do you know?” Sirius’ anxiety is so high he thinks he can taste his heart on the back of his throat.

 

“We haven’t decided officially,” Lily says, chewing on her lower lip. “I mean, we just found out a few days ago, and I’m not...I’m only a few weeks along. But I think...I think we’re leaning towards keeping it?”

 

“Christ,” Sirius says, dramatically dropping his head onto his crossed arms on the table. He sits like that for a moment before popping back up, saying, “Hang on a minute. You found a few  _ days _ ago? You’ve known for days, and James hasn’t told me? James has looked me right in the eye and not told me he inseminated you?” 

 

“Please never refer to my accidental pregnancy as an insemination ever again,” Lily says with a grimace. “He was going to tell you. Soon. Today, even. We just...we had to get our bearings together.”

 

“No, that’s unacceptable,” Sirius says. “He should have come to me the second he knew you were late. He didn’t even give me reason to suspect anything was up. It should not be that easy for him to lie to me, what gives?”

 

“I think he wanted to,” Lily says sincerely. “But he didn’t want to overburden you. He didn’t want you fretting about him and Remus at the same time.” 

 

“That’s a shit excuse,” says Sirius angrily, checking the time on his phone. He stands up. “Tell Remus I had to go home for a bit to yell at James for a few hours,” he tells Lily.

 

“Oh, Sirius, don’t go ambush him. He was going to tell you, I swear.”

 

“You better tell Remus, too, by the way,” Sirius adds, throwing on his jacket, ignoring Lily’s comment. “Because I wouldn’t trust me to keep this from him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lily says. “Please promise not to murder James?”

 

“And leave you a single mother?” Sirius says with a hint of bitterness. “No, I’m just going to severely maim him. Goodbye.” 

 

He turns on his heel and storms out of the cafeteria, leaving a disgruntled Lily behind him. 

 

\---

 

He gets home and finds James sitting on the couch, typing something up on his laptop. He looks up as Sirius comes in, and has the audacity to smile at him. “Hey,” he says.

 

Sirius, a very cool and calculating anger washing over him, nods. “Hey,” he says back, coming over and sitting beside him. He decides not to start the conversation out with accusation--he wants to give James the chance of redemption. He sits quietly, waiting.

 

“Hey, so,” James says after a minute. Sirius looks at him expectantly. James takes a deep breath. “Lily called me about Remus’ whole DNR thing. Sorry, that’s probably tearing you apart. Lily was a mess.” 

 

Sirius grimaces, not for the reason James thinks, and mutters, “It’s fine.”

 

“You sure? I don’t want you, I don’t know, bottling stuff again? You can talk to me about it, you know?”

 

Sirius sees red for a split second before mentally calming himself again. “I know,” he says. “And I should hope,” he adds, not-so-subtly. “That you know you can talk to me about stuff too.”  

 

“Yeah,” says James. “Yeah, I know that. ‘Course I do.”

 

“Good,” Sirius says. “Well, I haven’t checked in with you in a while. I know I’ve been kind of preoccupied, but is everything, you know, going alright?” He leaves the opportunity out, gaping wide for James to walk right into. He looks like he’s thinking hard, and Sirius can tell his news is on the tip of his tongue. He lets his breath out in a hiss, before saying,

 

“Uh, yup. Everything is fine.”

 

Sirius wants to punch him in the face. 

 

He does not, however, instead opting to cross up his arms and lean back against the cushions. Neither boy says anything for a solid minute or two, and Sirius, glaring at the wall across from him, breaks the silence to declare, “Boy, this sure is a  _ pregnant pause _ right now, wouldn’t you agree?” 

 

He hears James groan beside him. 

 

“Goddamnit,” he says, sounding pained. “Lily told you. Why did Lily tell you?” 

 

Sirius, no longer able to contain his anger, whips around to look at James, sending daggers with his eyes. “The better question,” he says. “Is why didn’t _you_ tell me?” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I was gonna tell you.”

 

“When?” asks Sirius.

 

“Soon,” is all James can offer up.

 

“Soon? What about right now? I just gave you a golden opportunity, and you completely disregarded it!”

 

“I know, I know,” says James, pushing his glasses up so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “But I didn’t want to tell you right after you found out about Remus’ thing, and I would have told you sooner, but we weren’t sure if she even _was_ for sure, so I figured I wouldn’t bother you with it until we knew for certain.”

 

“You didn’t want to  _ bother _ me with it?” Sirius says, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Where’s this come from? Since when would I ever consider something like that you  _ bothering _ me, James? Didn’t you  _ just _ say that you knew you can talk to me about stuff?”

 

“I know, but Remus--” James starts, but Sirius cuts him off.

 

“No, stop right there,” he says. “Listen to me, you stupid wanker, Remus has been sick, and I love him, and I’ve been spending a lot--or, I guess, most--of my time with him, but that _doesn’t_ _mean_ that I have stopped caring about you, okay? And frankly, I’m pretty pissed that I even have to tell you that--that you’d ever think for one second that I wouldn’t want to know about this _immediately_. You, you stupid mother fucker, are my best friend, and you don’t get to use Remus as an excuse to keep me out of the loop, alright? I love you, or whatever, so don’t worry about overburdening me, or fucking _bothering_ me. Remus would be the first to say that I shouldn’t prioritize him over you or Peter, and I haven’t. I won’t. I still care just as much as I always did, and that isn’t changing. Okay?”

 

James messes up his hair with a nervous hand, and let’s out a small huff of laughter. “Yeah, okay,” he says quietly. He glances at Sirius and says, “I’m not used to you lecturing me. It’s usually the other way around.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Sirius says, coming down from his outburst, slumping again on the couch. “Probably overdue, right?”

 

“I guess,” James agrees, slumping as well. They sit in a slightly more companionable silence than before, until James says, sort of awe-struck, “Lily is pregnant, Sirius.”

 

Sirius nods. “Yeah,” he says. 

 

“Yeah,” James echoes. 

 

“So how are you doing?” Sirius asks finally.

 

“Um, a little mortified, if I’m being honest,” James says. “I used to be president of the sexual health club in school, for fuck’s sake.” 

 

“Yes. Yes you were,” says Sirius, grinning a little at the irony. “You did so many condom crawls that you forgot to keep some for yourself.” 

 

James snorts. “Shut up,” he says. 

 

“Lily says you’re keeping it?”

 

“Mm, it’s leaning that way, yeah.” James sort of shrugs. “I told her I’d support her with whatever she wanted to do, but I think we both are just kind of unsure about everything.” 

 

“I guess you don’t have to decide right this second,” Sirius says. “Do you...I mean, do you want to keep it? Like, not in terms of what is the right thing to do--we all know you’re a fine, upstanding, young man who would never abandon your child--but you personally? Do you want it?”

 

“Uh,” James says, scrunching his eyebrows together. “I think...that maybe I do? Like, it’s not the best timing, and Lily and I have only been together...Jesus, not even a year. But the baby wouldn’t be born until late July, and we both graduate in May, and I guess, it’s not as bad as it could be? And, let’s be real, I dunno how much of that is me just really liking the idea of having something that binds me and Lily together.”

 

“Yeah, well, being super in love with someone to the point of wanting to make a person together--I mean, there are worse things to base your decision off of.” 

 

“I guess.”

 

“So you’re not scared?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” James says grinning. “I’ve thrown up like, four times just thinking about it. But it’s not a totally terrible fear. Like, it’s kind of like roller coaster fear.”

 

“Roller coaster fear?” 

 

“Yeah. All-encompassing, and overwhelming, but also maybe a little fun? And something you want to keep doing?” 

 

“That’s promising, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.” 

 

Sirius lets out a low whistle, and drapes an arm around James’ shoulder. “I can’t believe we’re having a baby,” he says.

 

“Uh, I think, technically it’s just me and Lil--” 

 

“I can’t believe we’re having a baby!” Sirius repeats louder, tugging James closer. James just laughs.

 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, letting Sirius hug him. “And, you know, just so you know. I love you too. Or...whatever.”

 

“Aw, Jamesie,” Sirius says, but he gets a little warm in the chest. “Hey! So,” he says, changing the subject abruptly, dropping his arm. “Since we’re apparently just being super stupid and embarrassing right now, can I briefly turn the attention on me and ask your opinion on something?”

 

“I welcome it,” says James, actually looking relieved to not be under scrutiny anymore. “Shoot.”

 

“Right, uh,” Sirius says, searching for a good way to phrase his question. “On a scale of Minerva McGonagall to Walburga Black, how crazy would it be for me to propose to Remus?”

 

James sort of stares at Sirius dumbfounded for a minute before blurting out, “Bellatrix Lestrange.” 

 

Sirius sucks on his teeth. “That bad?”

 

“I mean, far be it from me to give rational, responsible adult advice,” James says. “I’ve kind of lost my responsible adult privileges. But I mean, dude, it’s a little crazy. Why do you want to propose to him? It’s not like a, ‘he might die soon, I better take my chance,’ sort of thing, right? Because I’m pretty sure Remus would be wholly against that.”

 

“No, it’s not that sort of thing,” Sirius says. “I dunno, man. He mentioned, just sort of in passing, how he wished that I could be his health care proxy, but how his parents would be against him changing it unless we were married, and he was just joking, but I can’t really stop thinking about it.”

 

“When did he say this?”

 

“Earlier today, when we were talking about the DNR.”

 

“Mmmkay, well, before you go dropping down on one knee or anything, you had better give it more than a few hour’s worth of thought.”

 

“I know that,” Sirius says defensively. “But, I don’t know James, it just feels kind of right. Like, it’s kind of a scary thought, but it’s how you said--it’s a roller coaster fear. And, I mean, don’t you want to spend the rest of your life with Lily?”

 

“Oh God,” says James. “One major life change at a time, please.” 

 

“Yeah, okay,” Sirius says, laughing. “But if you don’t think about, like, the implications or social convention or your bastard child--don’t you want to be with her?”

 

“I mean, it’s kind of hard to see into forever, but I know I definitely don’t want to breakup with her. Is that the same thing?”

 

“Dunno. I guess that’s what I’m trying to figure out. It feels like it, though, doesn’t it? Like, how could I ever  _ not _ want to have this?”

 

“I know what you mean. But also remember that year Peter fell in love with that girl, and then she cheated on him with that sweaty dude with braces? That was years ago, and he still goes into a rage when he hears the name Jessica.” 

 

“I guess, but I don’t really see Lily or Remus as the cheating type. And even if they were, our peers are a lot less likely to to be sweaty and brace-faced than when we were in school.”

 

“You know what I mean, though?” 

 

“You mean how quickly love can turn to hate?”

 

“Yeah. Or not even that, but the idea that just because you feel it now, doesn’t mean you’ll feel it forever.”

 

“Isn’t that more reason to act on feelings now instead of later? Because you can never really know how it’s going to be in the future?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Forgive me,” Sirius says. “I’ve fallen in love with a boy who makes me regularly read him a book based heavily on the theme of fate. It’s starting to rub off on me.” As James laughs, Sirius nudges him in the arm. “By the way, speaking of Peter, we should go get nice takeaway before he comes home, because you’re going to tell him tonight, and he’ll be less likely to yell at you if you feed him first.”

 

“Good plan,” James says, getting to his feet and then putting out a hand to pull Sirius up. “Let’s go.” 

 

\---

 

“What the fuck,” says Remus.

 

“I know,” says Lily, standing a fair distance from Remus’ bed, wringing her hands. 

 

“What. The.  _ Fuck _ ?” Remus repeats, and Lily can offer him nothing better than a shrug. “Is this revenge?” he continues. “Are you mad about the DNR, so you’re trying to shock me into heart failure?”

 

Lily gives him a look. “That’s not funny,” she says. 

 

“No kidding,” Remus agrees. He shakes his head. “You can’t honestly have gotten yourself knocked up, Lily, not you. The woman who once told me all the world’s problems could be solved with proper condom use? Come on!” 

 

“Yeah, well,” says Lily to her shoes. “Maybe this is some kind of karmic retribution.” 

 

“Christ,” Remus mutters, a million different reactions presenting themselves to him, and him being unsure which to use. “What are you going to do about it?” he asks instead, hiding behind logistics. 

 

“Not sure,” Lily mumbles, braiding a few strands of her hair between her fingers. “Keep it, maybe?”

 

“Keep it?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Christ.” Remus shakes his head, settling on incredulity as his key reaction. 

 

“Yeah,” Lily says. “But listen, James and I are both still going to finish school, and James is up for promotion at his job, plus I’m sure Sirius would never let us end up starving on the street. It’ll be okay. Maybe...maybe even good?”

 

Her voice goes up on the last bit, as though trying to convince Remus of an idea she’s not even sure of herself, and he can’t help but laugh, albeit a little hysterically, as he regards his friend--eyes wide and bright and scared. 

 

“Stop it,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re acting like I’m going to ground you or something. I’m not your mum.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Lily says, letting a little of the tension deflate out of her shoulders. “It will probably be easier to tell her about it, to be honest.”

 

“Really?” Remus asks, a little bemused. “Am I that judgemental?”

 

“Not necessarily, but I happen to value your judgement more, is all,” Lily explains earnestly, and Remus smiles a genuine smile at this.

 

“Yes, well, I’m certainly...surprised,” he says carefully. “This comes as a surprise--and I think you might possibly be completely mental--but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to support you, 100%, no matter what you choose to do.”

 

Lily’s lower lip quivers as she walks over and sits on the edge of Remus’ bed and engulfs him in an embrace. “Thank you,” she says in a watery voice. “And I’m sorry--so sorry--for freaking out on you earlier. It’s just...I can’t handle the thought of going through this without you.”

 

Remus wraps his arms around her in return and rests his chin on her shoulder.

 

“You don’t have to, love,” he says quietly. “I’m right here.”

 

“But what if you leave me?” Lily asks so quietly Remus almost misses it. He holds her a little closer.

 

“I won’t,” he says, in a promise he isn’t sure he can keep.

 

\---

 

The beginning of December brings with it Remus’ hospital release papers, after nearly two months of being confined. He is leaving the hospital with an implant in his chest, keeping his heart beating for him, and he’s a tad bit worse for wear, but none of it matters to him, because he’s  _ free _ .

 

The morning of his release finds him in his hospital room packing up his belongings, Sirius at his side, pretending to help, but really just criticizing the way Remus organizes his bags.

 

“Not all of us had servants to pack our bags for us growing up,” Remus says at Sirius’ scoff at the way he’s balled up his socks and tossed them in his bag carelessly. “Most of us just had to learn to fend for ourselves.”

 

“No excuse to mix dirty pants with clean ones, Remus. How are you going to know which ones to wear when you get home?”

 

“Smell them, I suppose,” says Remus, grinning at Sirius’ disdain.

 

“You disgust me,” Sirius says cheerfully, planting a kiss on Remus’ cheek. “So, how’d your parents take the news when you told them you were moving back in with us instead of going back to their place?”

 

“As well as expected,” answers Remus, sticking his toothbrush in a random pocket he’s hoping he’ll remember about later. “Dad called me selfish in so many words, mum worried about my ability to look after myself, both then left, and I suspect mum is about three fourths through a wine bottle by now, and my dad will be rich in his denial. Nothing surprising.” 

 

“Yikes,” Sirius says, stuffing his hands on his pocket and leaning against the unmade bed.

 

“I’m not fussed,” Remus says with a shrug. “I’m starting to think I’m becoming desensitized to their drama, honestly.”

 

“Maybe for the best?” suggests Sirius, and Remus nods. 

 

“Yeah, I guess,” he says.

 

“I’m sure they probably loathe me,” Sirius muses without much concern.

 

“Loathe is a strong word,” Remus says, not looking up from the shirt he’s folding poorly. “They just don’t know you that well, and I don’t think they take our relationship that seriously.” 

 

“How come?”

 

“Because my mum is high pretty much always, and my dad thinks any dating relationship between two men or two women can’t be anything but a fling.”

 

“We’d have to be pretty much married for them to accept it as a real thing, then, huh?” asks Sirius.

 

“Yeah, basically,” Remus says, holding up two pill bottles and inspecting the labels. He vaguely registers Sirius chewing on his thumb nail like he does whenever he’s debating whether or not he should say something aloud. “What?” he asks, not bothering to look away from the medicine he’s trying to organize. 

 

“We could, you know, if you wanted,” says Sirius. 

 

“Could what?” Remus says distractedly, zipping up pill bottles in a little pouch.

 

“Be married.” 

 

Remus scoffs, placing the little pouch in his bigger bag. “Mhm, sure. Or why bother with that? We could just go the James and Lily route and adopt ourselves an orphan, have them be our little out-of-wedlock child.” 

 

“Should I take that as a pretty hard ‘no’ then?” asks Sirius, and Remus finally looks up at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Were you not joking?” he asks, and when Sirius merely shrugs, Remus makes a funny, sputtering “psh!” noise in his throat. “Sirius, don’t be daft! I’m not going to marry you just because it would validate our relationship to my parents.” 

 

“Well, that’s not why we’d be marrying each other,” Sirius says defensively, and Remus stops rummaging around with his packing in order to place his hands on his hips and look cross.

 

“Is this about the health proxy thing, again? Because I thought I made it clear that I wouldn’t ever accept a proposal based on my medical needs.”

 

“It’s not about the health proxy thing,” Sirius says, and Remus raises an eyebrow.

 

“Then what?” He then makes his face very stern, as he says, accusatory, “Oh God, this is because of the DNR, isn’t it? Like you’re trying to get us hitched before I kick the bucket or something?”

 

“No, of course that’s not it,” Sirius says, but Remus doesn’t hear him.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he says, turning back to his packing. “But you’re forgetting there’s always the possibility that I might live, and then you’d be stuck in a marriage with me that might actually last for some time yet.” He shakes his head. “Best not make that commitment until you’re sure.”

 

Remus watches Sirius in his periphery--sees him open his mouth and close it several times, before finally resigning himself to silence. He reaches over to Remus’ bedside table and starts gathering Remus’ stuff off of it, sticking them haphazardly in the bag. 

 

Remus stands adjacent to him, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

 

“I love you, you know that, right?” he finds himself assuring Sirius. “I just...two rules, okay? No romantic declarations on Valentine’s Day, and no deathbed proposals.”

 

Sirius’ smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he still stops what he’s going to lean over and kiss Remus on the forehead.

 

“Gotcha,” he says, turning away as quickly as he came. Remus frowns, taps his fingers against his thigh, but says nothing else. He picks up a hairbrush and throws it in the bag.

 

\---

 

“Morning sickness is a fucking myth,” Lily is saying, groaning with a hand over her stomach. “It’s more like all day sickness. And all night sickness. And everything makes me fucking exhausted. Is this what it’s like to be you?” 

 

“Yes, but with less nausea and more heart failure,” Remus says from next to her on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. He’s been home for three days, and he’s still reveling in the freedom. He’s had three nights of sleeping beside Sirius, which is a much needed change from being woken up every few hours by a nurse running a vitals check. For the first time in months he feels somewhat rested. 

 

“I’ve been reading this pregnancy blog, and the woman who posts it keeps talking about how she’s never felt more beautiful than she does ‘carrying life within her,’” Lily says, doing air quotes with a sour expression. “I’ve almost commented being like, ‘I don’t know what kind of pregnancy you’re having, but I feel like I’m carrying an ocean’s worth of water weight, and I’m pretty sure my crotch has never been leakier in my life.” 

 

“Too much information,” says Remus.

 

“I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure the amount of vaginal discharge I have could be used as a biological weapon.” 

 

“Please stop talking,” says Remus.

 

“My entire life is uni exams and pregnancy symptoms,” Lily says huffily. “You talk about something if those topics don’t suit you.”

 

“Mm,” says Remus thoughtfully. He takes a sip of water from a glass, before saying, quite nonchalantly, “I think Sirius tried to propose to me the other day.” 

 

“ _ What _ ?” says Lily immediately, mouth agape, turning so she can look at Remus with proper shock.

 

“Yeah, that happened,” Remus says, offering a casual, one-armed shrug.

 

“No, no, goddamnit, you have to give me more details than that. And what do you mean by  _ tried _ ? He  _ tried _ to propose to you?” 

 

“He...I don’t know, he didn’t exactly ask. He more like, offered it up as a possible thing that we could do if I wanted to. He threw it out there like he was suggesting where we should go for supper or something. It seemed kind of impulsive, honestly.”

 

“Why, though? I mean, what brought it up?”

 

“My guess is the whole DNR thing, not to mention we’ve spent the last couple months of our relationship in a hospital. Grand gestures of commitment are probably how he copes with the issue of mortality, or something.” 

 

“Well, what’d you say to him?”

 

“I told him no deathbed proposals. He seemed to drop it after that. It hasn’t come up since.”

 

“You really think that’s what it’s about, though? A ‘now or never’ sort of thing?”

 

“What else would it be?”

 

“I dunno, maybe he actually wants to marry you?”

 

“Why the fuck would he want to do a thing like that?” Remus asks before he can stop himself, and he braces himself as Lily hits him on the shoulder.

 

“Stop talking like no one in their right mind would ever love you, Remus,” she says.

 

“Yes, alright, but we haven’t even been dating a full year yet. Tell me that’s not a little mental?”

 

“I mean, okay, I never said his desire to marry you was well-thought out or rational, but I think it’s unfair to jump to the conclusion that he only wants to do it because you’re sick. I mean, impulsive wedding proposals based on heat of the moment passion seem like something Sirius Black would do, right?”

 

“Are you just saying this to justify the fact that you got pregnant by a boyfriend you’ve known even less time than I’ve known mine?”

 

“First off, fuck you, and second off, no, I really do think it’s something Sirius would do. Hell, he’d probably even marry you and then stay with you forever, just to prove the point that he meant the proposal.”

 

“Are you being pedantic? Stop being pedantic.” 

 

“Fine, better question, then. If it was based on love and passion, instead of, I don’t know, fear of loss or whatever, would you have said yes to him?”

 

“We’ve only been dating a year,” says Remus.

 

“That’s not what I asked,” Lily points out. 

 

“Can we go back to talking about your vaginal discharge? I think I preferred that conversation.”

 

Lily grins. “You fucking romantic sap,” she says fondly. “You wanted to say yes to him.”

 

“Doesn’t matter if I wanted to or not--which I’m not saying I did!--but even so, I could never have said yes to that. There was no bent knee or anything.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people? Gotta have the perfect proposal, then?”

 

“I deserve nothing less,” says Remus with a smirk, turning away and sipping on his water, hoping Lily doesn’t notice the blush bloom across his cheeks.

 

\---

 

“What’s the occasion?” Remus asks when Sirius tells him he’s taking him out on a date tonight.

 

“Remus Lupin, I’m surprised at you,” Sirius says with mock-indignation. “You’re the sappy sentimentalist, I expected better.”

 

“Pardon?” Remus asks, and Sirius gives a melodramatic sigh.

 

“It’s our anniversary,” he says, pretending to be exasperated.

 

“No it isn’t,” says Remus. “We got together on New Year’s Eve. Or, New Year’s Day, technically.”

 

“Let me clarify. It’s the anniversary of when we first met,” Sirius explains, and then watches Remus do the math in his head, and then smile.

 

“How do you even remember the exact day?” he asks.

 

“Because I’m the better one in this relationship,” says Sirius. “That, and because I remembered it was the last payday before Christmas last year, and I checked my calendar.” 

 

Remus snorts. “Yeah, alright. So where are we going?”

 

“Oh, I’ve got a hot date in mind,” says Sirius winking. At Remus’ raised eyebrow, he acquiesces and says, “I thought Indian food and then bookshop, you game?” 

 

“Sounds lovely,” says Remus with a small laugh. “More than lovely, in fact. I haven’t been to the bookstore since, well...since I died there.”

 

Sirius winces. “Kinda forgot about that. Hope you’re not traumatized about going there now?”

 

“No, no,” Remus insists. “Nothing could ever turn me away from my bookshop, don’t worry.”

 

“Good to know,” Sirius says. “Wear something sexy.”

 

“I’ve not got time to go shopping,” Remus says.

 

Sirius grins. “Just wear your normal clothes, then,” he says.

 

\---

 

After dinner--where the pair spent the majority of their meal trying to figure out if the couple adjacent to them were brother or sister or husband and wife (something they left undetermined by the end of it), and where Remus ate more than half his mulligatawny soup (something Sirius took as a personal achievement)--they got on Sirius’ motorbike and drove to the bookshop. 

 

The bookshop is mostly empty tonight. Pince greets Remus warmly, handing him a small pouch full of tiny crystals, saying, “They’re for healing. I went out and bought these as soon as they carted you out of here to the hospital. I’ve been keeping them behind the counter for you, since I knew you’d pull through.”

 

Sirius loves the way Remus manages to thank Pince so genuinely, while still carrying a nice, cynical air about him as he pockets the crystals.

 

(If Sirius were being honest, there are few things about Remus that he doesn’t love.)

 

Most of the tables are already deserted, but Sirius leads them to the table in the back with the burnt sage smell, just to assure their privacy. A bubble of anxiety wells up in his esophagus, and the back of his throat tastes bitter.

 

There is a special kind of adrenaline that forms in the body when you’re trying to get a yes answer from someone you’re sure will say no. Sirius remembers when he was eleven, and he wanted to join the boys’ football team with James and Peter.

 

It wasn’t the sport that his mother objected to, so much as the fact that she detested James and Peter. “No son of mine,” she said often. “Should be milling about with boys like that.”

 

It took Sirius a week to psych himself up to ask her. He agonized every second of his days over how he was going to phrase it. He memorized every rich bloke in his extensive bloodline that had played sport, and made a list of all the benefits it would have for him, if Walburga would just let him join. (“I won’t be able to get into anymore trouble if I have practice after school,” he scribbled on a piece of composition paper in his advanced and precise cursive scrawl.)

 

When the time came to finally ask the Big Question, Sirius had hardly gotten three words out before his mother’s glare--which she had spent many a year perfecting--pierced right through the thin wall of confidence he had spent the week building, and he fumbled his way through his arguments like a school child forgetting the words to an oral presentation. He fought back tears as he heard himself losing the battle he had prepared so long for.

 

Of course, when his mother said no, Sirius joined the team anyway, pretending his after school absences were from piano lessons instead of football practices. It was one of his first tastes of rebellion, and also how he ended up teaching himself to play classic piano (to keep up appearances), so it ultimately all worked out for the better.

 

Remus, however, is not his mother, and he holds no desire to rebel against him, nor coerce him into anything, not ever. All he wants is an honest answer, and that, Sirius thinks, is perhaps more terrifying than anything he ever had to face his wicked mother with.

 

“So,” he begins, once the two of them are seated. “I have a question.” 

 

“Uh oh,” Remus teases, letting Sirius reach over and take his hand easily.

 

“Yeah, maybe uh oh, and honestly, you’re probably going to say no, but I, uh, just wanted to ask properly, since I didn’t do so before.”

 

“Before?” Remus asks, pulling away slightly, seeming suddenly apprehensive. 

 

“Yeah, and you can’t interrupt. Like, you can answer the question however you want--like, zero consequences, nothing will change between us, I promise--but you can’t interrupt. You have to wait to say anything until I’m done, deal?”

 

“Uh-”

 

“Good. So, here’s the thing. I, um. I’d really like to marry you,” Sirius begins, trying not to let Remus’ stricken face discourage him. He quickly continues, “And it’s not because I want your parents’ approval, or so I can help be in charge of your medical decisions, or because I’m afraid you’re going to die before I get the chance, or anything like that. It’s just... you put the idea into my head, even though I know you didn’t mean to, and I haven’t been able to shake it. And I’m sure Lily and James’ unprotected sex adventures have something to do with it, let’s be real. There are a lot of big changes happening around us, and it’s probably rubbing off on me.

 

“I thought about how I wanted to phrase all this for, I don’t know, it feels like ten million years. I went through our book and found every quote that could help change your mind. ‘If it happens, it was supposed to.’ That was the first one you ever said to me, so I thought you might like the sentimental value of it. ‘There’s always something you can do to postpone the inevitable,’ was another classic. Then there was, uh, that one...shit, something about ‘don’t try to control the moon, just accept the tide,’ I don’t know, I wrote it down somewhere.

 

“But the more I thought about it, the more I thought that I didn’t want to use book quotes--even though we probably owe our entire relationship to that damn book--just because I wanted this all to come from me, so here, here’s what I got:

 

“I love you. Like, that’s the thing. I love you, and I can’t imagine ever not loving you, and I know that we can’t predict the future, and we’ve only known each other a year, and James and Peter think I’m insane, but I don’t care about any of that, I don’t think. I think that all I care about, or even really know, is that right now, in this moment, I cannot see myself wanting anyone else, and I’d like to marry you. Because sure, it’ll be good for your health care, and maybe it’ll make your parents like me, and maybe we really don’t have that much time together, but mostly, I just love you.

 

“I don’t know. That’s it, I guess. Except, I suppose I never even asked it in the form of a question, did I? So, uh, Remus, will you marry me?”

 

Remus does not look any less stricken as Sirius’ monologue comes to an end. He just stares are Sirius like he has a gun pointed to his skull. Sirius clicks his tongue a few times, and is about to say something to the effect of, “Feel free to say something any time now,” when Remus finally breaks his silence.

 

“‘There are countless threads running through the Universe at any given time,’” he mutters.

 

“Um, pardon?” asks Sirius, but Remus holds up a finger to silence him.

 

“‘They tangle together,’” Remus continues, and Sirius suddenly realizes he’s using his quoting voice. “‘Cross over each other, and in some cases, miss each other entirely. You, my love, were your own thread, racing your way through the void with purpose, and I was my own. I can never claim to have been trying to get anywhere in particular--I think I was moving just to move. But somehow, in some cosmic coincidence, our two threads, caught in the same space, and time, and moment, met. Your thread knotted to mine, and for the first time in my entire existence I was moving with reason in my velocity. 

 

“‘Now, knowing all that must have come to be for this meeting--every small and grandiose Universal happenstance, which could have kept us dreadfully apart, but instead, pushed us right together--how can I ever believe that you weren’t always something that was supposed to happen to me?’”

 

After a few beats of silence, Sirius clears his throat. 

 

“Are you saying that’s the quote I should have went with, or...?” he asks, and Remus, still a bit stricken, and maybe even awestruck, manages a smile.

 

“No, sorry, your own speech was beautiful. That just popped into my head. It’s what you reminded me of, I guess.”

 

“There are worse quotes to be reminded of during a marriage proposal, I suppose. What was that one we read the other day? ‘Maybe letting me die was synonymous with saving me?’ That one was pretty bleak, I’m glad I didn’t remind you of that one.” 

 

“No, you definitely didn’t remind me of that one,” says Remus smiling wider now, laughing a little. He casts his gaze down, and Sirius watches him, waiting. He’s moving, of course, this time by scratching the back of his neck.

 

“Not to be nit-picky,” Sirius pipes up after a minute. “Because that was a very nice quote, but, uh, you never really did answer my question.”

 

Remus screws up his face a little, and says, “If I get a transplant, I could live for a decade. Even longer, maybe.”

 

“I would hope so,” says Sirius.

 

“That’s a long time to be with someone.”

 

“That’s the idea.” 

 

“That’s a long time to be with  _ me _ ,” Remus clarifies, but Sirius just nods. “You’re daft,” Remus says.

 

“Maybe,” Sirius agrees. “And you can say no. I told you, you get a zero consequences no if you want it. I went into this expecting it, honestly.”

 

“I didn’t say I was saying no.”

 

“Oh,” Sirius says with a jolt in his gut. “What are you saying then?”

 

“Dunno,” Remus says. “That other thing, I guess.”

 

“That other thing?”

 

“Yes,” Remus says with a tremendous blush. “I’m saying yes, alright?” Sirius can’t help the grin that spreads ear to ear across his face. He tightens his grip on Remus’ hand, as Remus goes on, saying, “Under certain conditions, mind you! We’re to have a long engagement, alright? That’s my compromise. You can ask me to marry you against both our better judgments, but you at least have to give me some time to convince myself this is a good idea. I’ll make you my health care proxy, okay? My parents will understand that if we’re engaged, or at least it’ll lessen the blow, and you have to promise to make yourself a living will, too, because I’ve become really invested in making sure everyone has the proper papers, after I talked to Mrs. Longbottom about Frank, and mmph--!” 

 

Sirius cuts Remus off by leaning across the table and kissing him right on the mouth, right in the spot where they shared their first kiss nearly a year prior. The symbolism isn’t lost on Sirius, nor, he suspects, is it lost on Remus.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sirius says into Remus’ mouth, and he feels Remus’ grin as it blooms. 

 

“I love you,” Remus says quietly.

 

“You too,” Sirius says, more sincerely than he’s ever said anything. “And I hope to have a lifetime to prove it to you.”

 

\---

 

It is the end of January, there’s a full moon tonight, and just below Orion’s Belt, Sirius’ namesake hangs low and heavy in the sky. So aptly named for the Dog Star, Sirius feels his canine roots deep in his bones.

 

He races through the city, the wind whipping at his face, pushing his long locks back like a hound greeting the breeze through the window. He revels in the sensations; feels whole from the bracing chill, his skin red and raw.

 

The car that pulls in front of him does so without malice. It’s accidental--a forgotten look to both sides before it slides into the street.

 

Sirius knows he’s going to hit it before he does, but he doesn’t have time to panic. As the front of his motorcycle connects with the car, he feels nothing but an uneasy calm--like a budding fear in the back of his head that hasn’t quite come to fruition. 

 

There is the crunch of metal, and the sound of shattered glass. Sirius is thrown from his seat, and down to the asphalt, the back of his head, cushioned by a helmet that is useless under such extreme inertia, slamming on the surface like a bat to a ball. 

 

He has a second, maybe two, of consciousness, and he uses them, greedily, to think of Remus’ smile.

  
He then thinks of nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear


	13. Chapter 13

Bad news--really bad news--doesn’t process through the body immediately.

 

More often, it starts as a numbness; a deep blankness that is almost out-of-body in nature. 

 

Remus, standing in the hospital he has spent so much of his life in, feels dissociative, as though walking through a dream.

 

He thinks it’s possible that he has forgotten how to speak English, because nothing that’s being said to him makes any amount of sense. The doctor, with his head low and face somber (a stance Remus knows all too well), might as well be speaking Mandarin, for as much as Remus can understand him.

 

Peter, from beside him, is crying. And James--James looks distraught. Remus wants to console them--doesn’t like seeing them sad--but he isn’t sure how, and besides, he has the distinct impression, somewhere in the back of his fogged up mind, that he is supposed to be the most distraught one of them all.

 

He can’t really figure out why, though, since language seems to be broken.

 

He tries piecing the doctor’s words together in small doses. 

 

“Brain dead,” the doctor had said. Remus knows what that means. The image of Frank, blank and soulless on a stiff, hospital cot, flashes in his head like a picture dictionary. Yes, brain dead are words he knows.

 

“Respiratory failure,” is a trickier one, as no images come to mind, but he remembers, quite vividly, the pain in his chest on one of the numerous times he has died. He remembers what it feels like to try to take in breath, and not be able to. He can make sense of these words, too.

 

“Is being kept alive on life support,” is where Remus is getting tripped up, for there is no way for him to rationalize this. It doesn’t compute that Sirius Black, vivacious, and so painfully, tragically in love with life, should be hanging onto it by a thread.

 

Remus tries to hear what the doctor is saying now, but he’s speaking of Sirius’ living will, and Remus doesn’t need to listen to what he has to say about it, because he already knows. He helped Sirius write it, after all.

 

“I suppose there’s always a chance,” Sirius had said, some time ago by now, as the poured over the paperwork Remus had insisted on. “That in twenty or thirty years, science will have figured out a way to transfer human consciousness into robot bodies, and all the people stuck on machines will get to come back as robots. But while that’s really tempting, I don’t think I’d want to risk it. I’ve been human all my life, and besides, I don’t know if you’d still love me as a robot.” 

 

Remus laughed at the time, but he’s far from laughing now.

 

“He doesn’t want to be kept alive on life support,” Remus finds himself interrupting--and what do you know? He guesses English isn’t completely lost on him afterall. 

 

James closes his eyes. Mrs. Potter--when did she and her husband get there?--quietly weeps. Peter, too, still stands with tears streaming down his cheeks. Lily, who Remus just now realizes is hanging onto his hand like an anchor, watches him like at any moment he might combust.

 

And Remus wants to; he really does. Somewhere inside he understands what is happening, and that part of him wants nothing more than to scream until his throat is raw, but his body won’t let him. He read once, long ago, about what it’s like to fall through the ice. They said it was like a thousand massive blows to the chest--so strong, so painful, that it’s actually paralyzing. He thinks that right now, he knows what that feels like--drowning with no will to swim.

 

But just when Remus has resolved himself to a life of being frozen, the doctor decides to add a final piece. Remus understands every word, but he wishes he didn’t.

 

“Something we also need to consider,” says the doctor in his solemn tone, and he speaks directly to Remus. “Is that Sirius is an organ donor. He is also a match.”

 

All of a sudden, Remus remembers how to feel again, and it is terrible. 

 

Heart failure is one of the worst feelings in the world, but Remus thinks he could live in the moment of overwhelming chest pain for ten years nonstop, and it still wouldn’t hurt like this.

 

“No,” he says, and he’s suddenly so angry--absolutely affronted--that anyone could ever suggest something like that to him. “I can’t. I could never.” He shakes his head vehemently, and the rest of his body shakes along with it. He falters. All of his emotions begin churning up in his gut, and his stomach feels tumultuous. He tears himself from Lily, from everyone, and runs as fast as his sick body will let him, right into the restroom down the hall.

 

He heaves into the toilet, and remembers, already with a pang of horrible nostalgia, the way Sirius would rub his back in small circles with his thumbs whenever Remus’ new antibiotics would make him sick.

 

In the stall, he has no one to console him. He vomits, a pathetic heap on the cold, tile floor. His heart races against his chest cavity wall, and he finds himself cursing his ventricular assist device for keeping his blood flowing. How easy it would be, he thinks, to let his broken heart fail. By law, no one in this hospital could bring him back. Both he and Sirius could be taken out in one fell swoop, killed by their very own advanced directives. 

 

It would almost be poetic.

 

“Remus?” Lily’s voice, usually so outspoken, rings out, uncharacteristically small. 

 

“This is the men’s room,” Remus grunts, hearing her walk up behind him through the stall door he never thought to close. She places her hands gently on his shoulders, and her touch feels like fire on his oversensitive skin, but he finds he’s too tired to move away.

 

If Lily heard Remus’ protest, she doesn’t seem to care. She remains silent against Remus’ back, until he turns to look at her. 

 

She is barely even fourteen weeks along, hardly showing at all to most of the world, but Remus can see it. He sees the evidence of her pregnancy by the fullness in her face, and in her swollen fingers and bust. 

 

Remus feels an irrational anger well up inside him, as he jealously aches for Lily’s existence--where there is no death; only life.

 

“It’s not fair,” he says aloud at the thought. Lily doesn’t have the context, but she understands anyway, because she understands Remus.

 

“No,” she agrees, and Remus sees that she is crying. “It’s not.”

 

That, Remus thinks, is an understatement. ‘Unfair,’ is too small a word. He feels like he’s at the butt of some horrific, cosmic joke, as though God put him on Earth and gave him life, just to torment him with life. He thinks of how Sirius once asked him if he believed in God. If I do--he answers now, too late--it’s only to have somewhere to place the blame.

 

Lily wraps Remus in an embrace that feels hollow. Her touch is not the one he craves. He folds into it anyway, ignoring his sensory overload as he loses all semblance of control. 

 

The sobs exiting his body as involuntarily as the sick still sitting in the toilet, do nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, they just exhaust him, but he can’t stop, so they just flow through him in waves. Lily grips at the back of his sweater, holds him to her chest, and cries along with him, and the rock back and forth, wrapped in each other’s arms on the restroom floor.

 

\---

 

It becomes a waiting game of the worst kind.

 

Remus holds all the deciding power, as Sirius health care proxy, but he can’t bring himself to give the word; can’t even bring himself to go into Sirius’ hospital room to see him; can do very little but sit in the waiting room and stare at the walls.

 

He knows how this ends. The boy who signed a DNR in secret, and considered writing living wills a romantic gesture? Of course Remus is going to honor Sirius’ wishes. It’s just hard to find the strength.

 

James is with Sirius now. Peter sat with him earlier, and the Potters took a turn. James’ mum felt it prudent to notify the Blacks, but thus far, none have showed, not even Regulus. Remus isn’t sure if he should feel disappointed.

 

“I think you should reconsider,” Peter says from Remus’ right. They have been sitting in silence for so long that it catches him off guard, and he startles. 

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“I think you should reconsider,” Peter says again, and Remus doesn’t understand.

 

“Reconsider what?” he asks, with somewhat of a bite. “Taking him off life support? Because that’s not my place to decide, Peter, that’s what’s written in his papers.”

 

“I know that,” Peter says, and if Remus’ tone puts him off he doesn’t show it. “That isn’t what I meant. I think you should reconsider letting them give you Sirius’ heart.”

 

A wave of nausea washes over Remus, as it has every time someone has brought up that particular topic, and he can’t help the look of utter disgust that forms on his face.

 

“You can’t ask me to do that,” he says in a hushed tone. He glances to his left at Lily, expecting her to back him up, but instead she avoids his eyes.

 

“You don’t think I should reconsider, too, do you?” Remus demands, and she merely shrugs. Remus chews on his bottom lip; furrows his brow. “You both are mental,” he says.

 

“I know it’s terrible,” Lily finally pipes up. “But maybe...I don’t know, maybe it will give this whole thing meaning; make some good come out of it, you know?”

 

“There’s no meaning in any of this,” says Remus with certainty. He has always loved the idea of fate, but life has never felt more up to chance than it does at this moment.

 

“Yeah, but there could be,” Lily says, almost apologetically.

 

“It’s what Sirius would want,” Peter has the audacity to add.

 

“Stop,” says Remus sharply, not inclined to let his friends cast cliches his direction while he soaks in his grief. “You don’t know that, you can’t, and you can’t ask him, so let it be.”

 

Lily backs down, dropping her head and folding her hands in her lap. Peter, however, looks charged.

 

“I do know, though,” he says in a calculated tone. “And so you, I know you do, because we both know Sirius, and all Sirius ever wanted was to protect his friends. ‘Overprotective wanker,’ remember? I told you that’s what they’d end up putting on his gravestone. I know him, and I know he’d love for his last act in life to be saving yours.”

 

Remus has a strange urge to both punch Peter and hug him at the same time, because part of him knows that he’s right. If he’s being honest, which he does not want to do, he’d say that he’s known that’s what Sirius would have all but demanded. He’s known this since the second the doctor suggested it. How, then, can Remus explain that his reasons are much more selfish? He can’t bring himself to accept that heart, because it would be a literal, physical reminder of his loss--a reminder he could never take off.

 

Lily seems to read this in his face. She puts a hand on his knee--she always was one for physical affection--and gently reminds him, “Sirius is a donor, whether he donates to you or not. If you say no to his heart, someone else will get it, and we both know Sirius would have rathered it be you.”

 

It’s funny how the thought of another person carrying Sirius’ heart in their chest sparks a pang of jealousy in Remus, as though it were synonymous with walking in on Sirius with a different lover.

 

He supposes that in some way, he’s always known that transplants mean loss, especially in the case of the heart. He never fully appreciated the fact that being on the waitlist meant he was waiting for someone to die. Wouldn't it be better, he considers, if it was from someone who loved him, rather than from a stranger who is just an innocent bystander to his heart defect?  

 

Still, it’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s harder, even, to say the words, “I’ll accept the transplant,” than it is to say, “pull the plug.”

 

How cruel a life Remus has, that he’s being asked to say both.

 

James joins them then. His eyes are red beneath his glasses, and he wipes at his knows with his sleeve. James, Remus realizes, is maybe the only other person who might truly understand the pain Remus is feeling. Sirius once referred to James as his platonic soulmate, and James was quick to agree. So it makes sense, Remus supposes, that if he were to ask James what he thought--if he were to get his blessing--maybe he could make the choice.

 

“Should I do it?” Remus asks James before he can get any other words in edgewise. James shakes his head, confused.

 

“Do what?” he asks, and he sounds as emotionally exhausted as Remus feels.

 

“The transplant,” Remus says, knowing it’s vague, but not being able to be more specific. 

 

James, however, understands. He takes a moment to process the question. He visibly deflates, but his face takes on a look of defiance.

 

“Sirius wouldn’t want it any other way,” he says.

 

\---

 

The room is practically identical to the one Remus stayed in during his stint in the ICU. Remus is so used to hospitals that he can navigate them in his sleep, but somehow, this feels foreign. He knows how to be sick, but no one ever bothered to teach him how to be the healthy one.

 

Sirius doesn’t look as hurt as Remus braced himself for, but he finds it’s almost worse that way. If Sirius’ face was full of battle scars, it would seem more fitting. Instead, he is quietly injured, all the broken bits on the inside, and it seems an injustice that Sirius Black has to die so peacefully, when he would have preferred to go down swinging.

 

Seeing Sirius like this makes Remus more confident in what he has to do. This man in this bed is not the same man he loves--it’s just his body.

 

Remus takes the seat beside the bed, like Sirius had done so many times for him, and takes his hand in his. He lets out a shaky breath.

 

“How the tables turn,” he jokes, humorlessly. “All this time we’ve been afraid of me dying, but you had to go and muck up fate.” He takes a quick swipe at his eyes, somehow embarrassed of his tears, as though it matters.

 

“What am I going to do, Sirius?” Remus breathes, voice unsteady. “I was supposed to _marry_ you, and you were the one who was supposed to live. I never prepared myself for this.”

 

The confession rings out in the silent room, and the truth of it sits like a lump at the base of Remus’ throat. He takes a moment to compose himself, and then picks up the book he’s been carrying off his lap.

 

“I brought this with me to the hospital,” he says with a small smile. “Made Lily keep it in her purse. Are you surprised?”

 

The bookmark is on the very last page. THey had been putting off reading the to the end; saving it for something special.

 

“I don’t know how I feel about fate at the moment,” says Remus. “And so I’m not sure how this book and I are getting along. But I’m shit at goodbyes. So I’m just going to say that I love you, will always love you, and let Mr. Washburn do the rest, okay?”

 

He blinks a few times to clear his eyes. He opens up the book--the one that he has loved for so many years, and could recite by memory if asked--and reads the final page as his farewell.

 

_ “As Margo closed her eyes for the final time, Donald whispered to her, ‘All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you from harm. I am sorry that I’ve failed.’ _

 

_ Donald wept, but not Margo. Oh! the smile that Margo wore was tremendous. She hung, just barely, onto the living world, remaining on the cusp of the Veil long enough to take a few more breaths, and, as she finally tasted the Truth of death with her own body, used those final moments to impart one more wisdom to her love. _

 

_ She said, ‘I have no time, and all time, concurrently. There is space, and there is no space at all. I was never this limitless when I was living. You fought so valiantly to keep me from harm, but oh, my love, you were mistaken. Death is not a harm.’ _

  
_ And so it was, that Donald McAllison, master of time and consequence, kissed his lover goodbye.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/


	14. Epilogue

Remus tramples through the stone pathway, past the decaying tombstones with faded names and dates of dead long since lost. He just came from the doctor’s office. Every test showed that, at the one year mark, there were no signs of rejection. 

 

“Of course there isn’t,” Remus wanted to say. “This heart is the closest to my own I could ever get.”

 

He climbs up the small incline, taking his steps slowly. On the downslope, he spots the familiar plot, well-kempt and littered with flowers, between all the different people who come to give their love. Remus is grateful. He doesn’t come here as often as he thinks he should. Sometimes, he doesn’t have the physical strength. More often, he doesn’t have the emotional strength. It gets easier, though. Every day, it is easier.

 

He helps himself to the grass, not minding the dampness on his jeans, and he smiles.

 

“Hullo,” he says casually. “Sorry I’ve not been by for a minute. James must have come by recently, though, I see you’ve already got the newest pictures of Harry.” Remus reaches over and plucks up a wallet-sized photograph of the baby that is stuck between a few faux flowers in a plastic vase. “He’s getting so big, you wouldn’t believe it. He just started crawling last week, and it’s a disaster. He’s such a sneaky little devil, you would be proud to be his Godfather, I think. Don’t worry, though, I’ve got his Godfather’s heart. I’ll be sure to lend him a few tips on mischief once he’s old enough to understand them. Lily can’t get mad at me, I’ll just say they’re from you.

 

“Not much else is new, honestly. I’ve got a clean bill of health from the doctor, which is a first. Thanks for that.

 

“Um. I don’t know. I love you. I miss you. Daily. Hourly. Every second, really, but it’s getting better. Somewhat, anyway. Helping Lily prepare for the wedding helps keep my mind off of things. She’s so worried about still having baby weight by the time the big day rolls around, that I’ve had to hold the past five conversations with her while she was doing crunches in the sitting room. Be grateful you’re missing out.

 

“By the way, James made me best man. Technically, you’re best man, but we told him a cardboard cutout of you was tacky, and so he said since I have one of your vital organs, I’m the next best thing. He told me I’m not allowed to wear a jumper. They’re going to force me into a tuxedo, and I’m very upset about it, and I hope you know I blame you.

 

“Bollocks, I don’t know what else to talk about without getting upset, but look what I brought with me.” Remus holds up the copy of  _ A Life Worth Living _ . It is starting to fall apart. The pages are all rumpled, and the binding is crooked. Remus loves it. “I wasn’t able to read it for a while, you know? I don’t know if it was the memories, or if I was just spiteful about all the talk about fate, or what, but I finally picked it up again. That means something, right? 

 

“Well, anyway, I’ve talked enough about myself. You know everything about me already, anyway. I’m just going to be a storyteller, now, if you don’t mind. I’m at a really good bit, too, so listen closely, please.” 

 

He cracks open the book to where he left off, finds his place with his pointer finger, and clears his throat.

 

He reads. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, look, it's done! 
> 
> thank you for taking this ride with me over the past few months. it certainly became a much bigger project than i meant it to, but i had a good time. 
> 
> sorry for the abrupt and sad ending. it always had to end that way, i guess. the ending was what i thought of first. the rest came afterward. so it goes. 
> 
> feel free to yell and scream at me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com
> 
> you are all amazingly beautiful human beings.
> 
> thank you <3


End file.
